MISTRESS    DOROTHY 

of 
HADDON    HALL 


MISTRESS  DOROTHY 
of  HADDON    HALL 

BEING    the    TRUE    LOPE    STORT   of 

DOROTHY  VERNON^HADDON  HALL 
By      HENRT      HASTINGS 


R.    F.    FENNO     fcf     COMPANY 

9  and  1 1  East  Sixteenth  Street,  New  York 

1902 


Copyright,  1901,  by 

Jl.  F-   FjENNO  &    COMFANT 


Miiirin  Dtrttbf  of  Haddtn  Hall 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  LOVE  SCENE  AND  A  PROPHECY,        .  7 

II.  THE  BETROTHAL  FEAST 17 

III.  DOROTHY  VERNON,        ....  25 

IV.  A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH,         ...  33 
V.  MADGE  UTTERS  A  WARNING,        .        .  41 

VI.  DAWSON  BRINGS  BAD  NEWS,  ...  49 

VII.  A  LOWLY  DIPLOMATIST,        .       .       .  •  56 

VIII.  IN  DARLEY  DALE, 63 

IX.  AT  THE  WOODMAN'S  HUT,    ...  71 

X.  DOROTHY'S  DESPAIR,        .       .       .        .83 

XI.  TRAPPED, 91 

XII.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH,     .        .        .  101 

XIII.  THE  PROSPECT  DARKENS,     .        .        .  112 

XIV.  THE  MIRACLE,  ......  124 

XV.  A  BOLD  MOVE 132 

XVI.  THE  DARKENING  OF  THE  SUN,         .        .  137 


2136190 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII.  A  BARBED  SHAFT,        .       ...  144 

XVIII.  BETTER  THAN  THE  PHYSICIAN,        .        .155 

XIX.  MOVE  AND   COUNTERMOVE.     .          .          .  1 66 

XX.  DlABOLO, .  176 

XXI.  THE  MEETING  AT  THE  HAZEL  COPSE,  .  187 

XXII.  ON  THE  BRINK,        .....  200 

XXIII.  THE  TRYST,  .        ...       .       .  208 

XXIV.  STOLEN  MEETINGS 219 

XXV.  ANOTHER  AFFAIR  OF  HONOR,        .        .  230 

XXVI.  THE  TIDE  OF  FATE, 245 

XXVII.  THE  SEAL  OF  COMPACT,        ...  251 

XXVIII.  COUNTERPLOTS, 255 

XXIX.  A  PRISONER 268 

XXX.  A  BID  FOR  FREEDOM,       ....  277 

XXXI.  TRIUMPH,  286 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   LOVE   SCENE   AND   A   PROPHECY. 

"  Dreaming  again,  Doll?  " 

The  sudden  question  breaking  into  her  rev- 
erie caused  Dorothy  Vernon  to  start  and  red- 
den as  she  turned  a  pair  of  bewitching  eyes  to- 
wards her  sister  Margaret,  who  sat  beside  her 
on  the  lawn  of  the  beautifully  terraced  garden 
of  Haddon  Hall  one  fine  spring  day  in  the 
early  years  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign. 

"Dreaming!"  echoed  Dorothy.  "What 
have  I  to  dream  about,  Madge?  " 

"  Now,  Doll,  don't  try  to  deceive  me.  What 
pretty  girl  of  eighteen  doesn't  dream  of  lovers 
and  love-making?  " 

Dorothy  sighed.  "  I  suppose  some  day," 
she  said  with  obvious  prevarication,  "  when 
you  are  a  happy  bride  I  shall  have  to  decide  on 
a  partner,  but  till  then  I  shall  be  fancy  free. 
I'm  only  a  girl  yet." 

"  What  about  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge?" 
said  Margaret  slyly. 


8 

A  slight  shudder  passed  over  Dorothy,  and 
her  beautiful  face  grew  pale.  She  made  no 
reply,  but  bent  over  the  book  she  held  in  her 
lap. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  like  Sir  Falconer,  sis- 
ter." Margaret  had  noticed  the  coldness  with 
which  Dorothy  had  received  her  playful  refer- 
ence to  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge.  "  I  cannot 
understand  why  you  should  shudder  at  the 
idea  of  so  goodly  a  gentleman  for  a  lover  and 
husband.  You  know  our  father's  wish — a  wish 
shared  by  Lady  Vernon — that  you  should  ac- 
cept his  attentions/ 

Poor  Dorothy  was  hurt,  for  her  sister  spoke 
sternly,  and  almost  harshly,  to  her. 

"  Oh,  Madge,"  she  said,  throwing  herself  at 
her  sister's  feet,  and  hiding  her  face  in  her  lap, 
"  bear  with  me  a  little.  I  know  my  father's 
wish,  but,  oh,  Madge,  I  do  not  trust  Sir  Fal- 
coner ;  I  do  not  like  him.  Be  considerate  with 
me,  Madge." 

Margaret  Vernon  was  touched  by  her  sister's 
pleading  tones.  "  There,  there,  my  pretty 
dove,"  she  said  soothingly.  "  I  but  reminded 
you  of  your  duty  to  our  parents,  but  do  not 
think  any  more  about  it  now." 

Doll  was  soothed,  and  the  reconciliation  had 


just  been  cemented  by  a  kiss,  when  Margaret 
excitedly  whispered: 

"  Loose  me,  dear,  quick !  Here  is  Sir 
Thomas  Stanley." 

Dorothy  sprang  to  her  feet,  pushed  back  a 
rebellious  lock  of  hair,  while  her  sister  ran  for- 
ward eagerly  to  greet  a  young  man  attired  in 
the  height  of  fashion,  who  was  descending  the 
broad  flight  of  steps  that  led  from  the  upper 
terrace. 

Margaret  suddenly  stopped  in  the  middle  of 
the  lawn,  as  if  she  had  remembered  suddenly 
that  this  eagerness  she  had  displayed  was  not 
altogether  maidenly,  and  an  almost  triumphant 
smile  flickered  stealthily  round  the  young 
man's  lips  as  he  doffed  his  plumed  hat,  and 
kissed  the  Lady  Margaret's  hand  with  all  the 
grace  of  a  courtier.  Sir  Thomas  Stanley  was 
the  second  son  of  the  Earl  of  Derby,  and  a 
favorite  with  both  Sir  George  and  Lady  Ver- 
non.  There  was  no  doubt  he  was  deeply  smit- 
ten with  the  charms  of  Margaret,  but  what 
Margaret  thought  of  him  was  a  question  which 
puzzled  the  young  man  sorely. 

"  What  ails  sweet  Mistress  Dorothy  that  she 
turns  her  back  upon  me? "  said  the  young 
man  when  the  formalities  of  greeting  her  sis- 
ter Margaret  were  over. 


10 

"  Oh,"  explained  Margaret,  "  we  were  just 
making  up  the  tiniest  of  quarrels  when  you 
appeared,  and  we'll  appoint  you  to  judge  be- 
tween us.  The  fact  is  Sir  Falconer  Brace- 
bridge " 

Dorothy's  eyes  flashed  fire.  "  I  don't  want 
to  hear  his  name  again,"  she  said  petulantly, 
stamping  her  foot  prettily. 

"  He  sighs  thus  and  thus,"  continued  Mar- 
garet, heaving  huge  sighs,  not  heeding  the  in- 
terruption, "  and  Dorothy  is  cruel." 

An  arch  light  flashed  into  Dorothy's  eyes  as 
her  sister  mimicked  Sir  Falconer. 

"  Oh,  Sir  Thomas,  he  is  not  the  only  one 
who  sighs  thus  and  thus,"  echoed  Dorothy. 
'  You  don't  know  how  my  sister  loves  you. 
Night  and  day  she  sighs  for  you ;  she  talks  of 
you  in  her  sleep.  Look  at  the  scarlet  in  her 
face;  look  in  her  eyes  and  read  your  fate. 
Good-by.  Two's  company,"  she  cried,  almost 
dancing  away  in  mischievous  delight,  and 
blowing  a  kiss  as  she  made  for  a  flight  of  steps 
which  led  to  the  River  Wye. 

Margaret's  face  burned,  and  her  heart  palpi- 
tated like  a  startled  fawn's  as  Sir  Thomas  came 
up  to  her,  and  took  her  hand.  Her  eyes  fell 
before  the  ardent  look  in  her  lover's  as  he 
said: 


II 

"  Dorothy  spoke  the  truth,  then,  and  you 
really  love  me?  " 

Not  a  word  fell  from  Margaret's  lips,  but  a 
vivid  blush  rose  to  her  cheeks,  and  she  swayed 
slightly  towards  the  gallant  young  cavalier, 
who  was  watching  her  every  movement  as  if 
his  life  depended  on  his  intentness. 

"  It  is  true,  then,  darling?  "  he  continued, 
drawing  her  gently  towards  him. 

"Yes,"  she  breathed  softly. 

"  And  you  will  be  my  wife?  " 

"  Yes,  lord  of  my  heart,  whenever  you  will." 

He  threw  his  arms  about  her,  and  their  lips 
met. 

A  little  warning  cough  made  them  start 
apart,  and,  turning,  they  beheld  Dorothy  smil- 
ing roguishly,  and  accompanied  by  a  gaunt, 
weird-looking  old  woman,  the  chief  feature  of 
whose  swarthy  face  was  a  pair  of  dark,  gleam- 
ing eyes,  which  when  they  rested  on  you 
seemed  to  pierce  into  your  very  soul. 

Dorothy  had  met  the  weird  figure  by  the 
servants'  gate,  and,  learning  that  she  was  a 
seer  of  the  future,  had  resolved  that  the  wom- 
an should  read  the  fortune  of  the  lovers  in  the 
upper  garden.  She  bade  the  woman  follow 
her,  and  on  the  way  thither  learned  that  her 
companion  was  an  Arabian,  and  that  she  was 


u 

called  Jedaan  the  Prophetess  by  the  country 
people.  And  so  they  arrived  on  the  scene  just 
as  the  lovers  were  plighting  their  troth. 

Nor  were  Dorothy  Vernon  and  her  strange 
companion  alone  in  breaking  in  on  the  love 
scene,  for  the  Lady  Matilda  Vernon  had  also 
been  an  unwilling  witness,  and  was  even  now 
descending  the  steps  to  the  lawn. 

The  stepmother  of  the  two  girls  extended 
her  hand  to  Sir  Thomas,  glanced  inquiringly 
at  Margaret,  and,  turning  to  Dorothy,  she  said 
severely : 

"  And  who  is  this  you  have  brought  here?  " 

"  A  prophetess,  mother,"  answered  Dorothy 
merrily. 

"  A  prophetess !  "  exclaimed  the  lady  scorn- 
fully. "  An  impostor,  a  cheat.  Go  hence, 
woman,"  turning  to  Jedaan.  "  Your  looks 
make  me  shiver." 

A  gleam  of  fire  shot  from  Jedaan's  eyes. 
"  No  more  an  impostor  than  you,"  she  re- 
torted. 

The  haughty  Lady  of  Haddon  uttered  a  cry 
of  horror  at  being  thus  addressed  by  a  wan- 
dering fortune-teller,  and  Sir  Thomas  was 
about  to  rebuke  Jedaan,  when  Dorothy's  soft 
voice  interposed: 

"  My  lady  mother,"  she  interposed,  "  I  am 


13 

responsible  for  this  woman  being  here,  and  I 
should  like  if  you  would  let  me  put  her  claims 
to  the  test.  Here,  Jedaan,"  she  continued  be- 
fore her  stepmother  could  speak,  "  look  at  my 
hand  and  tell  me  what  the  future  holds  for 
me." 

Jedaan  took  the  little  white  hand  gently  be- 
tween her  own  brown  ones,  and  thoughtfully 
gazed  at  it  for  a  few  moments. 

"  I  see  strange  things  in  this  hand,"  said  the 
woman  at  length.  "  You  will  marry,  but  he 
whom  you  will  marry  will  be  none  of  your 
father's  choosing.  He  will  come  like  a  thief 
in  the  night,  and  his  coming  shall  change  the 
fortunes  of  this  house,  for  the  Vernons  shall 
know  it  no  more,  and  he  who  rules  now  shall 
be  the  last  Lord  of  Hadden." 

Dorothy  drew  her  imprisoned  hand  hastily 
away,  and  her  face  flushed,  and  then  grew 
deathly  pale  as  the  meaning  of  the  last  ominous 
words  dawned  on  her  mind. 

Lady  Vernon  started  forward,  as  if  she  her- 
self would  strike  the  woman  dead  at  her  feet, 
but  Margaret  with  a  contemptuous  laugh 
stepped  between  her  stepmother  and  the 
prophetess. 

"  Here,  witch  of  the  evil  tongue,'  she  said, 


14 

"  see  if  you  can  come  nearer  the  truth  in  my 
case." 

Jedaan  caught  Margaret's  hand,  and  peered 
intently  at  it  as  in  Dorothy's  case.  She  opened 
her  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  but  on  second  thought 
she  let  the  hand  fall.  "  I  cannot  read  your 
fate,"  she  said,  almost  sorrowfully. 

"  A  mere  trick  of  your  craft,"  cried  Mar- 
garet angrily.  "  I  insist  on  hearing  what  you 
see  in  my  hand." 

"  Do  not  blame  me,  then.  You  have  a  lover, 
and  you  will  become  his  wife.  With  him  you 
will  cross  the  sea,  but " 

"  But  what?  " 

"  You  will  have  it,  then?  Tis  written  in  the 
book  of  fate  that  you  shall  die  within  a  year  of 
your  wedding." 

With  such  grim  conviction  were  the  terrible 
words  uttered  that  consternation  fell  on  the 
little  group,  and  Margaret,  uttering  a  low  cry 
of  pain,  swooned  in  her  lover's  arms. 

"  You  shameless  jade,"  cried  Lady  Vernon, 
pale  with  passion,  "  see  what  you  have  done 
with  your  foolish  words.  Go,  or,  by  my  faith, 
the  hounds  shall  tear  you  to  pieces." 

Dorothy  trembled,  for  her  step-mother's  an- 
ger was  not  to  be  trifled  with,  and  she  knew 
she  would  have  to  bear  the  brunt  of  this  un- 


15 

fortunate  incident.  In  spite  of  her  distress, 
however,  she  placed  a  silver  coin  in  Jedaan's 
hand.  "  Go,  go,  at  once,"  she  cried,  "  and  God 
grant  that  your  cruel  words  may  never  come 
true." 

Jedaan  looked  gently  at  Dorothy  as  she  said : 
"  I  have  spoken,  and  Fate  is  Fate."  Then, 
without  deigning  to  look  at  Lady  Vernon, 
with  bowed  head,  she  moved  slowly  from  sight 
of  the  awe-struck  group  on  the  lawn. 

Several  servants  now  appeared  on  the  scene, 
and  with  their  assistance  Margaret  quickly  re- 
gained consciousness.  Sir  George  Vernon,  the 
Lord  of  Haddon,  and  father  of  Margaret  and 
Dorothy,  had  been  summoned  when  his  daugh- 
ter had  fainted,  and  before  the  recovery  of  her 
senses  he  had  been  informed  of  what  had  taken 
place,  and  had  also  learned  from  Sir  Thomas 
of  the  promise  he  had  got  from  Lady  Margaret. 
The  prospect  of  an  alliance  with  the  powerful 
Earl  of  Derby  was  very  gratifying  to  the  Lord 
of  Haddon  Hall,  and  when  Margaret  came  to 
greet  her  father,  he,  desirous  to  take  her 
thoughts  from  the  painful  scene  which  had  just 
taken  place,  placed  her  hand  in  that  of  Sir 
Thomas. 

"  The  blessing  of  God  be  upon  you,  my  chil- 
dren," he  said  with  deep  emotion,  "  and  my; 


16 

house  and  the  house  of  Stanley  be  ever  knit  in 
the  bonds  of  friendship.  And  in  honor  of  the 
betrothal  I  command  a  feast  to  be  prepared 
worthy  of  such  a  memorable  occasion.  And 
as  for  your  fortune,  Madge,  it  shall  be  little 
short  of  your  weight  in  gold." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    BETROTHAL    FEAST. 

The  little  village  of  Bakewell,  situated  two 
miles  from  Haddon  Hall,  boasted  an  inn  of 
renown  known  all  over  the  county  as  "  The 
Boar's  Head,"  and  kept  by  one  of  Sir  George 
Vernon's  tenants,  Hubert  Armstrong.  Be- 
hind the  hostelry  lay  a  tree-shaded  bowling 
green,  in  which  two  young  men,  evidently  of 
some  standing  in  the  world,  were  pitting  their 
skill  against  one  another. 

The  guests — for  passing  travelers  they  were 
merely — desisted  from  their  play  as  they 
watched  the  approach  of  a  youth  in  page's  at- 
tire, who  seemed  to  wish  to  speak  to  them. 

"  Sirs,"  said  the  page  as  he  came  up,  rais- 
ing his  cap,  "  I  am.  a  page  in  the  service  of  the 
Lady  Matilda,  wife  of  Sir  George  Vernon, 
Lord  of  Haddon  and  King  of  the  Peak.  To- 
night there  is  to  be  feasting  at  the  Hall  in 
honor  of  the  betrothal  of  Lady  Margaret  to 
Sir  Thomas  Stanley,  and  all  who  choose  to 


i8 

come  are  welcome.  Therefore,  if  you  are  free, 
in  my  Lord  and  Lady's  name,  I  bid  you  to  the 
feast." 

The  young  man  listened  gravely,  and  then 
an  amused  smile  broke  over  his  face  at  the 
strangeness  of  the  invitation  to  a  passing  trav- 
eler. 

"  What,  ho,  John,"  he  cried  at  last  to  his 
friend,  who  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  green, 
"  are  you  good  for  a  royal  feast  to-night?  " 

"  Ay,  Will,"  replied  the  other,  coming  for- 
ward. "  What  friend  have  you  found  in  Bake- 
well?  Fie,  Will,  'tis  surely  not  a  lady  friend?  " 

"  Hush,  man,  you  know  better  than  that," 
replied  Will  with  a  smile.  "  Here  is  a  page  of 
Lady  Vernon,  who  invites  us  to  the  betrothal 
feast  of  the  Lady  Margaret,  if  it  be  our  pleas- 
ure to  attend.  What  do  you  say,  John?  " 

"  Ah,"  said  John,  his  interest  growing.  "  I 
have  heard  of  Sir  George  Vernon's  hospitality 
and  the  beauty  of  his  daughters.  Give  my 
respects  to  your  Lord  and  Lady,  and  say  that 
I,  John  Manners,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Rutland, 
and  his  friend,  William  Aleyne,  Esquire,  of 
Nottingham,  will  honor  ourselves  by  partaking 
of  Haddon's  hospitality  to-night." 

The  page  respectfully  took  his  leave,  and  the 
two  young  men  turned  to  one  another. 


19 

"  This  is  an  adventure  we  did  not  look  for," 
said  Will  Aleyne,  "  but  beware  of  the  darts 
from  the  fair  Dorothy's  eyes,  John.  The 
daughter  of  Haddon  is  not  for  the  second  son 
of  the  Earl  of  Rutland." 

"  Nay,"  replied  John  Manners  with  a  blush 
that  belied  his  words,  for  the  two  that  very 
morning  had  been  talking  of  the  possibility  of 
encountering  the  beauty  of  Haddon  about 
Bakewell,  "  I  was  thinking  of  the  service  the 
King  of  the  Peak  might  do  me,  if  I  were  to 
go  to  London  and  seek  service  with  Her  Grace 
the  Queen.  The  sword  is  the  only  weapon 
with  which  a  younger  son  may  carve  his  way 
to  fortune  and  love." 

At  this  moment  the  landlord  approached  the 
young  men  bowing  obsequiously. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  am  your  humble 
servant,  and  my  poor  inn  is  honored  by  the 
presence  of  two  such  gentlemen,  for  I  have 
just  learned  your  names  and  rank  from  Lady 
Vernon's  page." 

"  Oh,"  answered  Manners,  "  we  are  merely 
here  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  Peak  country, 
and  would  desire  to  remain  unknown." 

"  The  fortune  that  has  brought  you  to  my 
poor  inn  has  opened  the  gates  of  Haddon  to 


2O 

you/'  pursued  the  innkeeper,  "and  you  will 
gaze  on  the  beauty  of  Haddon's  daughters." 

"  Is  Mistress  Dorothy  betrothed,  too?  "  in- 
quired Aleyne,  with  a  mischievous  glance  at 
his  companion. 

"  Well,  rumor  has  it  that  she  will  wed  Sir 
Falconer  Bracebridge." 

"  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge !  "  echoed  Man- 
ners in  surprise. 

"  Ay,  sir;  know  ye  anything  of  him?  " 

"  Well,  not  much  to  his  credit."  The  inn- 
keeper showed  some  annoyance. 

"  Sir  Falconer  is  a  worthy  gentleman,"  he 
said,  with  some  heat,  "  and  a  good  patron  of 
mine.  He  is  clever,  too." 

"  Ay,  in  deceit,"  said  Manners. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Aleyne  interposing,  for 
he  saw  mischief  might  arise  from  this  too  free 
expression  of  opinion  of  Manners'  part,  "  let's 
not  argue  on  a  day  like  this.  Fetch  us  another 
jug  of  ale,  landlord,  for  my,  throat  is  dry." 
With  a  frown  on  his  face  the  man  went  off, 
and  Aleyne  turned  to  his  friend.  "Jack,"  he 
said,  "  you  must  keep  a  guard  on  your  tongue 
or  it  will  lead  you  into  trouble.  Mine  host,  I 
think,  is  not  to  be  trusted,  and  if  he  reports 
this  to  Bracebridge  it  may  cause  trouble." 

"  I    cannot   help   that,"    replied    Manners, 


21 

"  and  much  I  wonder  that  he  is  permitted  to 
pay  court  to  Dorothy  Vernon.  Surely  his 
character  is  not  known  to  Sir  George  Vernon." 

"Hush,  man,  what  is  Dorothy  Vernon  to 
you  that  you  should  concern  yourself  with  her 
affairs?  " 

"  True,  true,"  replied  the  young  man, 
thoughtfully,  as  if  some  foreboding  of  what 
the  future  held  for  him  was  troubling  him, 
"  she  is  nothing  to  me  now,  but  to  mate  with 
Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge !  It  is  shameful." 

A  little  later  the  two  friends  set  out  for  the 
Hall,  and  they  had  just  slowed  up  their  steeds 
to  gaze  on  the  picture  the  mansion  presented, 
as  it  reflected  the  golden  rays  of  the  sinking 
sun,  when  a  woman  suddenly  rose  in  front  of 
their  horses,  which  shied  and  swerved  aside 
from  the  strange  figure,  with  a  dark  skin  and 
a  diamond  blazing  on  her  forehead.  It  was 
Jedaan,  the  Prophetess. 

For  a  moment  the  superstition  which  held 
peer  and  peasant  in  its  thrall  thrilled  the  young 
men  with  sudden  awe,  but  the  fear  of  the  other 
world  was  only  momentary,  and  Manners  was 
the  first  to  recover  his  wits. 

"Who  are  you?  "  he  cried,  in  angry  tones, 
"  and  why  do  you  stop  us  in  this  unwarranted 
fashion?" 


22 


"  I  am  an  Arabian,  and  have  the  gift  of  fore- 
telling what  will  be,"  replied  Jedaan  calmly. 

"  A  pleasant  gift,  faith,"  responded  Manners, 
with  a  skeptical  smile.  "  Come  now,  we  have 
not  time  to  hear  thy  prophecy  now.  To-mor- 
row at  noon  be  at  the  Boar's  Head,  and  in- 
quire for  John  Manners  and  Will  Aleyne,  and 
you  shall  reveal  my  destiny  to  me.  There  is 
a  groat  for  you  in  the  meantime." 

Little  was  said  till  they  reached  the  Eagle 
Tower,  where  was  the  principal  entrance  to 
Haddon  Hall. 

The  herald's  trumpets  had  proclaimed  that 
the  feast  was  ready,  and  those  who  were  privi- 
leged to  sit  above  the  salt  had  formed  in  line 
on  each  side  of  the  great  ballroom  waiting  for 
the  host  and  his  family  to  lead  the  way.  John 
Manners  and  his  friend  stood  together,  and  as 
Dorothy  Vernon  and  her  stepmother  came  up 
the  room,  Dorothy,  by  accident,  let  her  hand- 
kerchief fall.  Manners  immediately  stooped, 
and  restored  the  handkerchief  with  such  a 
graceful  bow  that  the  young  lady's  attention 
was  arrested.  Their  eyes  and  hands  met  as 
Dorothy  accepted  the  'handkerchief  with  a 
smile  and  a  word  of  thanks,  and  as  she  passed 
on,  she  turned  her  head  for  an  instant,  and 
glanced  back  at  the  young  man. 


23 

"  Who  is  that  gallant?  "  she  whispered  to 
her  stepmother. 

"  I  know  not,  child,"  replied  Lady  Vernon, 
unamiably ;  "  some  graceless  loon  whom  your 
father's  weakness  has  brought  here." 

Dorothy  was  hurt  by  the  allusion  to  her 
father,  and  held  her  peace. 

For  some  seconds  after  Dorothy  had  passed, 
Manners  could  do  nothing  but  gaze  at  the 
vision  which  had  risen  before  his  eyes. 

"  For  once  rumor  hath  not  lied,"  he  whis- 
pered to  Aleyne  when  he  found  his  tongue. 
"  The  fair  Dorothy  Vernon  is  lovelier  even 
than  report  painted  her." 

Aleyne  laughed. 

"  Smitten  already,  Jack !  "  he  said,  "  but  re- 
member I  have  warned  you." 

Manners  made  no  reply,  and  his  silence  con- 
tinued all  the  time  of  the  banquet  till  the  ladies 
retired. 

When  Sir  George  Vernon  rose  at  midnight 
to  quit  the  banqueting  hall,  the  two  young 
men  followed  him  to  take  their  leave. 

"  Nay,  my  friends,"  said  their  host,  genial- 
ly, "  you  must  not  ride  away  at  such  an  hour, 
if  you  will  deign  to  accept  my  hospitality." 

Manners  looked  at  his  friend,  and  then  ac- 


24 

cepted  for  both  with  an  eagerness  that  might 
have  attracted  attention  at  any  other  time,  for 
Dorothy's  sweet  face  still  haunted  him. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DOROTHY    VERNON. 

The  sunlight  was  streaming  in  at  the  win- 
dow next  morning  when  he  awoke,  and  mak- 
ing a  hasty  toilet  wandered  into  the  gardens, 
with  Dorothy  Vernon's  face  still  haunting  his 
waking  dreams. 

He  had  reached  the  broad  upper  terrace 
when,  suddenly,  a  silvery  voice  broke  on  his 
ear,  and,  turning,  he  saw  the  object  of  his 
dreams  in  the  lawn  garden  accompanied  by  an 
old  woman  and  two  spaniels. 

Impulsively,  Manners  was  about  to  descend 
the  broad  steps  to  the  lawn,  when  he  checked 
himself.  What  right  had  he  to  intrude  on  this 
young  lady's  privacy?  He  was  only  the  guest 
of  an  hour. 

He  was  turning  away  when  the  two  spaniels 
suddenly  spied  him,  and  flew  up  the  steps  at 
the  stranger,  snapping  and  barking  at  him  as 
if  they  intended  to  quite  make  an  end  of  him. 

"  Come   here,   you   ungracious  creatures," 


26 

cried  Dorothy  in  evident  distress  at  the  unruli- 
ness  of  the  dogs.  Don't  be  alarmed,  sir,  they 
are  not  dangerous."  Manners  smiled  and 
bowed,  and,  descending  the  steps,  said,  with  a 
laugh : 

"  In  truth,  my  lady  Dorothy,  I  am  afraid  I 
must  put  myself  under  your  protection  from 
these  ferocious  beasts." 

"  Nay,  they  are  only  frolicsome.  Is  it  not 
so,  Madge? ' 

"  Ay,  sweet  one,"  replied  the  old  woman, 
"  but  ill-mannered  and  spoiled." 

The  old  woman,  Dorothy's  nurse  and  wait- 
ing woman,  worshiped  the  ground  the  girl  trod 
on.  From  her  girlhood  she  had  been  in  the 
service  of  the  Vernon  family,  and  was  devoted 
to  every  member  of  it,  with  the  exception  of 
Lady  Vernon,  whose  harshness  to  Dorothy  she 
resented. 

"  Then  I  am  grateful  for  their  ill  manners, 
since  it  has  given  me  the  opportunity  to  pay 
my  respects  to  the  charming  daughter  of  my 
honored  host." 

Dorothy  blushed  crimson,  and,  stooping  to 
adjust  the  collar  of  one  of  the  dogs,  said  softly : 
"  May  I  know  the  name  of  my  father's  guest, 
who  seems  so  well  versed  in  the  art  of  flat- 
tery? " 


27 

"  It  is  one,  lady,  of  which  I  have  no  need  to 
be  ashamed.  I  am  plain  John  Manners,  sec- 
ond son  of  the  Earl  of  Rutland." 

Dorothy  looked  up,  and  extended  her  shape- 
ly hand  to  him,  which  he  kissed  with,  perhaps, 
a  little  more  warmth  than  was  necessary. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  know  you,  sir,  and  I  have 
heard  of  your  worthy  father.  Stay  you  long 
with  us?"  she  added. 

"  Alas,  no !  "  he  answered  with  a  sigh.  "  My 
friend,  Will  Aleyne,  and  myself  are  traveling 
through  the  Peak  country,  and  would  have  left 
Bakewell  last  night  had  your  father  not  de- 
tained us." 

"  Brief  as  your  visit  is,  I  would  like  you  to 
take  away  a  good  impression  of  Haddon  Hall. 
If  it  would  not  weary  you,  I  should  be  pleased 
to  show  you  the  gardens  and  the  view  of  the 
Hall  that  is  to  be  got  from  the  upper  terrace." 

"  My  lady  Dorothy,"  replied  Manners,  a 
look  of  unspeakable  delight  illumining  his  face, 
'*  I  should,  indeed,  be  a  churl  if  I  were  wearied 
by  aught  you  might  say  or  do." 

"  A  noble  speech,  sir,"  chimed  in  old  Madge. 
"  Now,  Mr.  Manners,  have  you  ever  seen  a 
sweeter  maid  than  my  Dorothy?  " 

"  By  the  book,  no !  "  exclaimed  Manners,  en- 
thusiastically. 


28 

"Peace,  sir,"  said  Dorothy  sternly,  "I'll 
hear  no  more  of  your  flattery."  With  crimson 
face  she  called  her  dogs,  and  fled  like  a  startled 
fawn  to  the  upper  terrace. 

"  After  her,  sir !  "  cried  Madge.  "  She  is 
bashful,  and  likes  not  to  hear  her  praises  sung. 
Go  to  her  and  I  will  follow." 

Needing  no  second  bidding,  he  rushed  up 
the  steps,  and  overtook  the  young  lady. 

"  Mistress  Dorothy,"  he  said,  "  I  claim  the 
fulfillment  of  your  promise  to  show  me  the 
view  of  which  you  spoke." 

"  Nay,  this  is  too  much,  sir.  You  abuse  the 
hospitality  of  my  father." 

Manners  dropped  on  his  knees,  and,  bow- 
ing his  head,  said  dolefully: 

"  Mistress  Dorothy  Vernon,  by  the  sun  that 
shines  upon  us,  I  vow  that  I  will  not  quit  this 
spot  till  you  have  pardoned  nue  for  the  dread- 
ful crime  of  admiring  you." 

"  Was  ever  maiden  so  persecuted,"  sighed 
Dorothy.  "  Shame  on  you  for  taking  advan- 
tage of  my  maiden  weakness.  But  I  suppose 
I  must  forgive  you.  Now,  rise  and  go.  I  am 
to  blame  for  having  drawn  you  into  speech 
with  me." 

Manners,  who  had  sprung  gayly  to  his  feet 
on  hearing  her  words  of  forgiveness,  was  dum- 


29 

founded  by  the  sudden  change  in  her  man- 
ner. He  tried  to  stammer  an  excuse  as  she 
moved  away,  but,  as  she  made  no  response, 
there  was  no  help  but  to  depart  crestfallen. 

A  week  had  passed  since  the  betrothal  feast 
at  Haddon  Hall,  and  still  John  Manners  and 
his  friend  lingered  at  Bakewell,  much  to  the  an- 
noyance of  Aleyne,  who  was  eager  to  resume 
his  travels.  The  day  following  the  feast  Je- 
daan,  the  seer,  had  come  to  the  Boar's  Head 
in  accordance  with  Manner's  invitation.  The 
young  man  showed  an  extraordinary  eagerness 
to  hear  what  the  weird  woman  had  to  tell  him, 
and  the  strangely  assorted  pair  left  Aleyne  to 
his  own  cynical  meditations,  while  they  ad- 
journed to  a  separate  room.  Jedaan,  having 
darkened  the  window,  spread  a  chocolate-col- 
ored powder  on  a  plate,  and  set  fire  to  it. 

From  the  burning  powder  arose  a  thin 
bluish  vapor,  which  curled  and  twisted  and 
spread  till  it  obscured  from  the  young  man's 
gaze  the  opposite  wall  of  the  room. 

"  What  do  you  see?  "  said  Jedaan,  ceasing 
the  low,  monotonous  chant  she  had  kept  up 
while  the  powder  was  burning. 

"  A  human  face,"  replied  Manners.  "  Ah, 
it  is  Dorothy  Vernon ! " 

"How  does  she  look?" 


30 

"  Sad.  The  eyes  are  wistful,  and  they  fill 
with  tears.  It  is  gone,"  he  added  regretfully. 

Jedaan,  again  approaching  Manners,  made 
several  passes  with  her  hands  before  his  face, 
and  threw  more  powder  into  the  dish. 

The  cloud  of  vapor  increased,  and  a  new 
picture  gradually  grew  out  of  the  curling 
wreaths  of  smoke. 

"  I  see  a  moonlit  road,"  went  on  John 
Manners,  "  and  two  figures  on  horseback,  rid- 
ing as  if  for  their  lives.  One  of  the  figures  is 
that  of  a  woman,  but  her  face  is  mufHed.  The 
other  is  a  man — myself,  I'll  swear!  Behind 
are  pursuing  shadows,  phantoms  of  angry  men 
with  naked  swords  in  their  hands.  The  shad- 
ows make  up  on  the  pursued  rapidly,  and  the 
foremost  strives  to  strike  me  with  his  sword. 
Ah!" 

The  sudden  exclamation  was  elicited  by  the 
disappearance  of  the  smoke  picture. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean?  "  continued  John 
Manners,  almost  fiercely,  turning  to  Jedaan, 
but  no  answer  was  vouchsafed  him.  Dazed  for 
a  moment,  he  stared  around  him,  and  awoke 
to  the  consciousness  that  the  room  was  filled 
with  a  stifling  odor,  and  that  the  weird  woman 
was  'stretched  on  the  floor,  dead,  for  all  he 
could  tell.  He  rushed  to  the  window,  and, 


31 

throwing  it  open,  turned  his  attention  to  the 
prophetess. 

She  stirred  when  he  touched  her,  and  opened 
her  eyes.  Very  soon  she  had  recovered  suffi- 
ciently to  enable  her  to  move  out  of  the  heavy 
atmosphere  of  the  chamber,  and  reply  to  the 
youth's  eager  questioning  as  to  the  meaning  of 
the  vision.  But  only  one  answer  would  she 
give.  "  What  you  have  seen  will  be,"  a-nd 
with  this  he  had  to  be  content. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  the  two  young 
men  lingered  on  at  the  Boar's  Head  in  Bake- 
well,  Aleyne  getting  daily  more  impatient,  and 
his  friend,  no  doubt  influenced  by  Jedaan's 
necromancy,  loitering  merely  on  the  chance  of 
getting  another  glimpse  of  Dorothy  Vernon. 

Mounting  his  steed  one  morning,  he  was 
riding  along  near  the  great  gateway,  when 
the  sound  of  a  horn  and  voices  aroused  him 
from  his  reverie,  and  looking  ahead  he  beheld 
a  lady  accompanied  by  a  cavalier  and  followed 
by  two  attendants.  Manners  drew  his  horse 
under  a  tree,  for  he  recognized  Dorothy  Ver- 
non. As  she  came  abreast  of  where  he  stood 
she  suddenly  caught  sight  of  him,  and  became 
so  confused  that  she  let  her  riding  whip  fall. 
Manners  sprang  from  his  horse,  picked  up  the 
whip,  and  presented  it  to  her  as  he  doffed  his 


32 

hat  and  bowed.  She  stammered  her  thanks, 
passed  on,  and  Manners  stood  gazing  after 
her,  and  heard  the  cavalier,  who  was  Brace- 
bridge,  ask  sternly: 

"  Who  is  this  gallant?  You  seem  to  know 
him,  my  dear  Dorothy." 

"  A  week  ago  he  was  my  father's  guest," 
she  answered. 

"  Aye,  aye;  but  his  name?  " 

"  Manners." 

"  What?  John  Manners,  son  of  the  Earl  of 
Rutland?" 

Doll  nodded  an  assent. 

"Oh,  oh!  but  this  is  fortunate.  I  have  a 
score  to  settle  with  that  evil-tongued  rascal, 
and  by  the  Virgin  I'll  teach  him  a  lesson  he'll 
long  remember ! " 

Fortunately  Manners  did  not  hear  the  con- 
versation, or  he  would  have  hurried  after  the 
party,  and  demanded  an  explanation.  What 
he  did  was  to  return  to  the  inn  and  announce 
to  his  friend  that  he  was  ready  to  depart  at 
once. 


33 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    DUEL   TO    THE    DEATH. 

Their  road  next  morning  lay  through  Rows- 
ley,  as  they  intended  to  ride  to  Derby  that 
day. 

Soon  they  were  traversing  the  beautiful  and 
romantic  Darley  Dale,  and  so  they  came  to 
Darley  village,  where  a  picturesque  inn  with 
a  broad  bowling  green  tempted  them  to  halt, 
drink  a  horn  of  ale,  and  play  a  game  of  bowls. 
While  mine  host  had  gone  to  his  cellar  to  tap 
a  fresh  barrel  John  Manners  strolled  to  the 
little  church  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  with 
its  quiet  God's  acre,  and  flinging  himself  down 
he  indulged  in  reverie,  and  dreamed  waking 
dreams  of  Dorothy  Vernon.  He  lay  there 
some  little  time  dreaming  his  dreams  until  re- 
called to  a  sense  of  his  mundane  surroundings 
by  the  sound  of  galloping  horses,  and  looking 
along  the  road  which  he  and  his  friend  had 
traversed  he  beheld  three  horsemen  riding 
hard  through  a  cloud  of  dust. 


34 

The  three  riders  drew  rein  when  they  got 
abreast  of  the  inn  so  suddenly  as  nearly  to 
throw  their  steeds  on  their  haunches.  They 
were  gentlemen  as  evidenced  by  their  dress 
and  swords.  They  were  hot  and  dust  covered, 
while  their  horses  were  flecked  with  foam. 
On  the  stcne  bench  in  front  of  the  inn  Aleyne 
and  the  two  servants  sat. 

"  What  ho,  fellows !  "  cried  one  of  the  horse- 
men abruptly,  a  florid-faced  man,  "  have  you 
seen  two  cavaliers  pass,  gentlemen  of  some 
quality?  " 

"  Whom  is  it  you  seek?"  asked  the  servant. 

"  One  John  Manners,  who  rides  with  a 
knave  no  less  scurvy  than  himself." 

The  servant  stood  up  and  answered  boldly: 

"  My  master  is  John  Manners,  a  very  honest 
gentleman,  and  no  scurvy  knave,  as  you  are 
pleased  to  call  him." 

The  florid-faced  man  flung  himself  from  his 
horse,  his  example  being  followed  by  his  com- 
panions. 

"  What  ho,  tapster !  "  he  roared  in  blustering 
tones.  "  Send  your  hostler  to  our  steeds.  I 
have  a  score  to  settle  with  one  of  your  cus- 
tomers." 

"  I  would  humbly  crave  to  know  your  name 
and  quality,  sir,"  said  the  landlord,  looking  a 


35 

little  scared  at  the  prospects  of  a  quarrel. 

"  I  am  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge,  knight," 
came  the  proud  answer.  "  My  friend  here  is 
Sir  Ralph  Bardsdale,  knight,  of  Norwich, 
Cheshire;  and  that  gentleman  is  my  esquire." 

"  And  whom  seek  you,  sir?  "  asked  the  host. 

"  One  John  Manners,  a  knave,  who  with 
false  tongue  hath  beslandered  my  fair  name, 
and  he  must  answer  to  me  with  his  life." 

Bracebridge  was  in  the  habit  of  frequenting 
the  Boar's  Head  at  Bakewell,  and  as  he  was  an 
influential  patron  the  landlord  did  not  fail  to 
report  to  him  Manners'  disparaging  remarks, 
and  when  Bracebridge  met  John  in  the  woods 
near  Haddon,  and  noticed  that  Dorothy  was 
confused  his  jealous  nature  was  aroused,  and 
he  resolved  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  his  rival  on 
the  first  opportunity.  The  day  following  that 
meeting  Hubert  Armstrong  conveyed  a  secret 
message  to  Bracebridge  that  Manners  and  his 
friend  had  left,  and  were  on  their  way  to  Lon- 
don. In  consequence  of  this  Bracebridge  had 
set  off  in  pursuit,  overtaking  his  enemy  at 
Darley  village. 

John  Manners,  who  heard  what  passed  be- 
tween the  fire-eater  and  the  landlord  of  the  inn, 
came  forward,  and  with  a  dignified  bow  he 
answered  for  himself: 


36 

"  I  am  John  Manners,  second  son  of  the 
Earl  of  Rutland,  and  at  your  service." 

Bracebridge  grew  red  in  the  face,  and  with 
a  passionate  gesture,  cried : 

"  If  you  are  John  Manners  then  I  charge 
you  with  being  a  false  and  perjured  slanderer." 

"  On  what  authority? "  asked  Manners, 
coolly  and  proudly. 

"  On  the  authority  of  one  Hubert  Arm- 
strong, host  of  the  Boar's  Head  at  Bakewell. 
Answer  you  to  the  point:  has  Hubert  Arm- 
strong spoken  truly  or  falsely,  when  he  reports 
that  you  have  defamed  me?" 

"  If  Armstrong  has  reported  me  as  saying 
that  you  have  a  reputation  for  being  clever  in 
deceit,  and  that  you  are  a  dicer  and  a  trickster, 
then  he  has  reported  me  truly." 

Bracebridge's  face  became  scarlet,  and  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  seemed  to  swell  up. 

"  Then,"  he  cried  in  a  towering  rage,  "  you 
shall  make  good  your  words  on  your  sword, 
and  as  he  spoke  the  words  he  flung  his  riding 
glove  in  Manners'  face. 

Aleyne,  who  had  been  a  silent  spectator, 
started  up  at  the  first  indication  of  the  quarrel, 
but  held  his  peace,  waiting  for  developments, 
though  keenly  alive  to  the  seriousness  of  the 
situation. 


37 

As  the  glove  of  the  challenger  fell  to  the 
ground  Manners  kicked  it  away  disdainfully, 
and  flinging  his  hat  on  the  bench  he  drew 
his  sword,  and  said  with  a  sneer: 

"  You  shall  have  your  revenge,  and  Mis- 
tress Dorothy  Vernon  shall  be  freed  from  the 
possibility  of  becoming  wife  to  such  as  you, 
who  are  not  fit  to  fasten  the  latchet  of  her 
shoe." 

Nothing  that  Manners  could  have  said  or 
done  could  have  aroused  the  fury  of  Brace- 
bridge  as  this  did. 

He  made  a  desperate  lunge  at  his  antago- 
nist, who  skillfully  parried  the  thrust,  however, 
and  at  that  moment  Aleyne,  whose  feelings  got 
the  better  of  him,  fearing  as  he  did  that  his 
triend  would  be  sacrificed,  struck  up  their 
swords  with  his  own,  and  exclaimed: 

"  Hold !  This  is  an  outrage,  and  I  implore 
you  put  up  your  weapons,  and  let  me  decide 
between  you." 

Young  Bardsdale  here  threw  himself  into 
the  breach. 

"  Thy  name  and  rank?  "  he  demanded,  as 
he  drew  his  sword. 

"  My  name  is  William  Aleyne,  Esquire. 
And  thine?" 


33 

"  Sir  Ralph  Bardsdale,  son  of  Sir  Hope 
Bardsdale  of  Northwich,  Cheshire." 

"  Defend  yourself  then,  Sir  Ralph,  for  my 
friend's  quarrel  is  mine  also,"  said  Aleyne. 

The  four  men  now  fell  to  in  deadly  earnest, 
and  for  some  minutes  the  swordsmen  fought 
with  dogged  determination  and  admirable 
skill. 

Some  chance  remarks  from  the  crowd  falling 
on  Bardsdale's  ears  so  wounded  his  vanity  and 
stirred  his  passion  that  he  made  such  a  furious 
onslaught  on  his  foe  that  Aleyne  nearly  lost 
his  footing,  and  could  do  nothing  but  guard 
himself.  At  last,  however,  he  recovered  his 
position,  and  by  a  very  skillful  blow  he  slight- 
ly wounded  the  bloodthirsty  young  duelist  in 
the  shoulder. 

"  First  blood,"  cried  Aleyne,  "  and  since  you 
and  I  have  no  just  cause  of  quarrel,  let's  put 
up  our  swords." 

Infuriated  as  he  was  Bardsdale  was  in  no 
humor  to  listen  to  reason,  and  smarting  from 
the  prick  he  had  received,  he  lost  all  control  of 
himself,  till  Aleyne  saw  at  last  that  it  would 
be  necessary  to  disable  his  youthful  opponent, 
and  he  determined  to  wound  him  in  the  sword 
arm,  but  Bardsdale  made  a  sudden  lunge  and 
rush:  the  lunge  was  parried,  then  Aleyne 


39 

thrust,  and  the  other  failing  to  guard  himself, 
the  point  of  the  weapon  entered  deeply  into  his 
chest,  and  piercing  the  heart  he  fell  back  with 
a  gurgling  cry.  He  was  instantly  picked  up* 
laid  on  the  bench,  while  every  effort  was  made 
to  stanch  the  flow  of  blood. 

In  the  meantime  Manners  and  Bracebridge 
had  been  striving  might  and  main  for  mastery. 
At  length,  by  splendid  sword  play,  with  a 
lightning-like  movement,  Manners  got  under 
his  antagonist's  guard,  and  came  near  piercing 
him  through  the  heart,  but  Bracebridge  man- 
aged to  knock  up  the  sword,  but  was  slightly 
wounded  in  so  doing.  Unfortunately  for  him- 
self in  making  the  thrust  Manners  trod  on  a 
small  stone,  which  threw  him  off  his  balance, 
and  that  was  his  undoing.  Bracebridge  saw 
his  opportunity,  and  was  not  slow  to  avail  him- 
self of  it.  Recovering  his  weapon  he  made  a 
powerful  thrust,  and  ran  his  opponent  through 
the  shoulder.  Manners'  sword  fell  front  his 
hand,  and  he  would  have  gone  to  the  ground 
if  his  servant  had  not  rushed  forward  and 
caught  him. 

So  ended  the  combat.  The  arrival  of  a 
skilled  woman  and  her  examination  of  young 
Bardsdale  left  no  room  to  doubt  that  he  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  all  human  aid. 


40 

The  sun  had  set,  and  the  village  slept,  but 
from  a  latticed  window  of  an  upper  chamber 
of  the  hostelry  a  light  streamed.  In  that  cham- 
ber lay  John  Manners  grievously  wounded, 
while  distressed  and  sorrow-stricken  his  faith- 
ful friend,  William  Aleyne,  sat  and  watched. 
Presently  he  was  startled,  and  the  echoes  of  the 
village  were  awakened  by  a  loud  knocking  on 
the  door,  and  the  voice  of  a  woman  crying  for 
admittance. 


41 


CHAPTER  V. 

MADGE    UTTERS    A    WARNING. 

Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  did  not  convey 
the  body  of  his  friend  Bardsdale  back  to  Had- 
don,  but  lodged  it  at  Rowsley  for  the  night. 
Here  also  he  had  the  slight  wound  on  his  arm 
attended  to,  and  that  done  he  proceeded  to 
the  Hall,  where,  seeking  a  private  interview 
with  Sir  George  Vernon,  he  broke  the  news  to 
him.  Of  course,  he  made  the  best  he  possibly 
could  of  his  own  case,  representing  Manners 
as  being  "  a  graceless  fellow,  of  such  free 
speech  and  so  loose-tongued  that  he  not  only 
slandered  the  fame  of  honest  gentlemen  but  of 
fair  women.  My  own  reputation  having  suf- 
fered grievous  wrong  by  this  slanderer,  as 
testified  by  mine  host  of  The  Boar's  Head  at 
Bakewell,  honor  demanded  that  I  should  chal- 
lenge him.  And  when  I  heard  that  he  had 
sneaked  away  from  fear  of  meeting  me,  I  rode 
after  him  and  laid  him  low." 

"  But  is  he  dead?  "  asked  Sir  George  Ver- 
non, in  evident  distress. 


42 

"  I  know  not ;  but  I  cut  him  down,  and  I 
think  he  will  hardly  wield  sword  again." 

Sir  George  took  a  far  more  serious  view  of 
the  matter  than  Bracebridge  was  disposed  to 
do,  and  expressed  grave  fears  that  the  power- 
ful Manners  family  would  not  let  the  affair 
rest  where  it  was.  He  deplored  such  a  hasty 
appeal  to  arms,  when  explanation  might  have 
set  matters  right;  and  he  confessed  that,  from 
what  little  he  had  seen  of  Manners,  he  had 
been  rather  impressed  with  him. 

Bracebridge  did  not  like  to  hear  this  praise 
of  his  rival,  and  he  spared  no  invective  that 
was  likely  to  tell  in  his  own  favor,  referring 
to  Manners  as  "  a  brawler  "  and  "  a  heretic." 
Whether  or  not  Sir  George  was  impressed  by 
this  line  of  argument  did  not  appear,  for  he 
preserved  a  diplomatic  silence. 

A  little  later  Bracebridge  sought  Dorothy, 
to  take  his  leave  of  her.  She  seemed  surprised 
at  his  sudden  departure,  and  naturally  inquired 
the  cause  of  it.  Needless  to  say,  he  did  not 
satisfy  her  curiosity,  and  the  only  explanation 
he  ventured  to  give  was  that  an  affair  of  some 
importance  necessitated  his  going  into  Chesh- 
ire as  soon  as  possible. 

If  he  supposed  that  Dorothy  would  weep 
and  wail  at  his  going,  he  befooled  himself 


43 

greatly.  Indeed,  though  she  concealed  it,  she 
experienced  a  sense  of  relief.  And  when  she 
mounted  to  the  summit  of  the  tower  to  wave 
an  adieu  to  him,  she  did  not  look  like  a  young 
lady  who  was  steeped  in  woe  because  her  lover 
was  going  away. 

The  day  had  not  run  to  finish  before  old 
Madge  was  in  possession  of  the  news  which 
was  being  discussed  by  the  servants.  It  had 
been  brought  to  the  Hall  by  a  butcher  who 
supplied  the  family  with  "  small  meat " ;  but 
he  was  not  in  a  position  to  say  whether  John 
Manners  was  fatally  hurt  or  not.  His  infor- 
mation was  that  there  had  been  a  fierce  encoun- 
ter at  Darley  between  some  gentlemen,  that 
one  was  killed,  and  that  Master  Manners  had 
been  worsted  by  his  opponent.  When  Madge, 
with  eager  interest,  inquired  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel,  Will  Dawson,  the  head  forester,  who 
had  been  bringing  in  fagots,  said : 

"  I  know  not  the  cause,  good  nurse,  of  this 
sword-pricking  and  blood-spilling,  but  I'll 
wager  my  year's  wage  there's  a  woman  at  the 
bottom  of  it." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  it,  Will  Dawson. 
But  come  hither;  I  should  like  to  speak  a 
word  to  you  privately.  I  am  eager  to  know 
how  it  fares  with  this  John  Manners,  who,  if 


44 

report  lies  not,  hath  been  so  grievously  hurt  by 
the  fiery  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge.  I  have  a 
crown  to  spare,  and  'tis  yours  for  the  earning." 

"  Say  how  I  can  earn  it,  good  Madge,  and 
the  crown  is  mine." 

"  Tis  easily  earned.  Tell  not  your  business 
to  anyone,  but  ride  hard  to  Darley  and  bring 
me  a  report  of  John  Manners.  And  mark  you, 
Will,  let  it  be  a  true  report,  even  though  it 
tells  of  his  death.  You  understand?  " 

"  Ay,  clearly,"  replied  Will  Dawson,  and 
within  half  an  hour  he  was  riding  at  full 
speed  to  Darley. 

A  hawking  party  had  been  arranged  for  that 
day,  but  Sir  George  Vernon  had  canceled  it 
on  account  of  the  tragedy;  and  when  Madge 
went  to  Dorothy's  room,  she  was  questioned 
as  to  the  cause  of  the  hawking  party  being  put 
off. 

"  Is  it  because  Sir  Falconer  has  departed?  " 
asked  Dorothy. 

"  I  should  think  not,  love-bird.  Did  Sir 
Falconer  say  nothing  to  you  before  he  went?  " 

"  Oh,  much,"  laughed  Doll.  "  He  said  I 
was  to  dream  of  him.  Why,  Madge,  if  I  were 
to  dream  of  him  I  should  frighten  you,  because 
you  would  think  I  had  a  nightmare." 


45 

"  You  would  rather  dream  of  handsome 
young  Manners,  eh?  " 

"  Heigho !  "  sighed  Dorothy,  as  she  leaned 
out  of  her  window,  and  expressed  a  fear  that 
there  was  going  to  be  a  change  of  weather. 

"  Would  you  like  news  of  Manners?  "  asked 
the  old  nurse. 

"  Well,  truth  to  tell,  I  have  a  woman's  curi- 
osity," she  said  indifferently.  "  Do  you  know 
what  has  become  of  him?  " 

"  Ay." 

"  Oh,  tell  me,  tell  me,"  cried  Dorothy,  with 
an  eagerness  that  could  scarcely  have  been  the 
outcome  of  mere  curiosity,  and  was  not  in 
keeping  with  her  assumed  indifference. 

"  He  is  lying  grievously  wounded  at  Dar- 
ley." 

"  Grievously  wounded,"  echoed  Doll,  with  a 
little  catching  of  her  breath. 

"  So  runs  the  report." 

"  Who  has  wounded  him?  " 

"  The  man  to  whom  your  lady  mother  would 
wed  you." 

"What?    Sir  Falconer?  " 

"  Ay,  Sir  Falconer." 

Dorothy  seemed  dumfounded  for  the  mo- 
ment, and  her  pretty  face  was  clouded  with  a 
look  of  sadness.  Presently  she  spoke : 


46 

"  Madge,  what  was  the  cause  of  the  quar- 
rel?" 

"  I  know  not ;  but  if  I  said  that  you  were, 
maybe  I  should  not  be  far  wrong." 

"  I  the  cause?  "  cried  Doll.  Then,  with  an 
angry  flash  of  her  eyes,  she  asked :  "  Think 
you,  Madge,  that  John  Manners  has  dared  to 
speak  ill  of  me?  " 

"  No,  my  baby,  I  think  not  so.  A  man  does 
not  speak  ill  of  the  woman  he  admires." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  Manners  ad- 
niires  me?  "  asked  Doll  coyly. 

"  Baby,  dear,  I  know  it  by  the  way  John 
Manners  looked  at  you,  and  the  way  John 
Manners  sighed,  and  by  the  woe  in  his  face 
when  you  pretended  to  be  very  angry  and 
sent  him  from  you." 

Dorothy  remained  wrapped  in  thought  for 
some  minutes,  but  presently  she  looked  up  into 
the  kindly  face,  and,  twining  her  white  arms 
about  Madge's  neck,  she  asked: 

"  Has  Sir  Falconer  departed  because  of  this 
quarrel?  " 

"  When  he  came  to  the  Hall  this  time  he 
brought  a  friend  with  him,"  remarked  Madge. 

"  Ay,  Sir  Ralph  Bardsdale." 

"  Well,  Sir  Ralph  Bardsdale  is  dead,  so  runs 
the  news." 


47 

"  Dead ! "  exclaimed  Dorothy  in  a  tone  of 
horror,  as  she  clapped  her  hands  to  her  tem- 
ples; ''dead!  And  killed  by  John  Manners?" 

"  Not  by  Manners,  as  I  am  told,  but  his 
friend.  The  gossip  is  that  Sir  Falconer  set 
upon  Manners,  and  when  William  Aleyne  took 
his  part  Sir  Ralph  set  upon  Aleyne,  who  slew 
him.  'Tis  an  awful  business,  and  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge  carried  the  body  into  Cheshire  to 
the  boy's  home." 

"  Oh,  Madge !  Madge !  "  moaned  Dorothy 
in  real  distress ;  "  but  this  is  woeful  news  in- 
deed, and  I  fear  it  will  lead  to  grave  conse- 
quences." 

"  If  it  frees  thee,  my  sweet  child,  from  the 
prospects  of  an  odious  marriage,  then  I  say 
'tis  well.  You  are  too  gentle,  and  sweet  and 
beautiful  for  such  as  Sir  Falconer.  Let  him 
seek  a  lady  of  his  own  fiber,  and  not  wed  with' 
one  who  would  wither  under  his  angry  looks." 

Dorothy  was  so  upset  that  she  wept.  She 
had  a  high  regard  for  the  old  woman's  per- 
spicacity and  shrewdness,  and  in  her  heart  she 
was  perfectly  well  aware  that  Madge  was 
right.  She  had  tried  to  deceive  herself,  but 
Madge's  little  outburst  of  plain  speaking  had 
convinced  her  that  the  trial  was  a  failure,  and 
now  this  terrible  news  of  the  fight  and  its  tragic 


consequences  caused  her  to  shrink  within  her- 
self and  experience  a  sense  of  dread  of  the  man 
who  was  to  be  her  husband.  That  surely  was 
an  outrage  on  natural  feeling,  and  not  the  spirit 
in  which  she  should  be  wooed  and  won.  When 
her  tears  had  spent  themselves  Doll  sank  into  a 
deep  reverie,  which  old  Madge  did  not  disturb, 
but  busied  herself  with  some  trifling  duties,  un- 
til, suddenly  looking  up,  Dorothy  asked 
dreamily,  and  as  if  the  matter  didn't  very  great- 
ly interest  her : 

"  I  wonder  if  the  young  gentleman  who  was 
wounded  by  Sir  Falconer  was  hurt  to  death?  " 

"  You  will  soon  have  your  question  an- 
swered, since  Will  Dawson  has  gone  to  Darley, 
and  is  to  bring  us  news,"  replied  Madge. 


49 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DAWSON    BRINGS   BAD    NEWS. 

The  woman  who  disturbed  the  midnight 
silence  of  Darley  by  clamoring  at  the  door  of 
the  hostel  for  admission  while  Manners  lay 
wounded  sorely,  and  his  devoted  friend, 
Aleyne,  watched  by  his  bedside,  was  no  other 
than  Jedaan,  the  seer.  A  pedlar  passing 
through  Darley  on  his  way  to  Bakewell  had 
gathered  the  news,  and  spread  it  as  he  went, 
and  Jedaan  heard  from  the  pedlar  of  the  fight 
and  its  results,  with  keen  interest,  for  there  is 
little  doubt  she  had  faith  in  her  own  prophe- 
cies. Apart  from  that,  Manners  had  won  her 
sympathy  and  good-will  by  the  kindly  way  he 
had  treated  her. 

Parting  from  the  pedlar,  she  wended  her 
way  toward  Darley,  and  a  little  distance  out  of 
Rowsley  met  the  procession  bringing  in  the 
body  of  Bardsdale.  She  loitered  about  until 
an  opportunity  occurred  for  her  to  address 
herself  to  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge,  when  she 


So 

begged  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  forecast 
his  future.  At  any  other  time  he  would  have 
humored  her;  but  now  he  was  filled  with  grief 
for  the  death  of  his  friend,  and  disturbed  in 
his  mind  as  to  the  possible  consequences  to 
himself  for  his  rashness.  Accordingly  Sir  Fal- 
coner spurned  her,  and  when,  undeterred  by 
his  savage  mood,  she  importuned  him,  he  told 
his  esquire  to  beat  her  with  the  flat  of  his 
sword.  Had  he  known  what  a  deadly  enemy 
this  strange  woman  could  be  he  would  prob- 
ably have  hesitated  before  insulting  her.  Je- 
daan's  mobile  face  betrayed  the  emotions  of 
her  mind,  and  her  dark  eyes  glowed  like  those 
of  an  angry  tigress.  But  she  remained  silent, 
though,  raising  her  hand,  she  drew  imaginary 
figures  in  the  air,  until  some  of  the  loiterers 
jeered  at  her  and  called  her  "  witless." 

The  moon  was  pouring  a  flood  of  light  over 
the  landscape  when  she  came  to  Darley,  and 
saw  the  light  streaming  from  the  window  of 
the  room  where  Manners  lay.  She  clamored 
for  admittance,  until  mine  host,  irritated  at 
being  disturbed  from  his  rest,  armed  himself 
with  a  ponderous  cudgel,  and,  from  an  open 
window,  demanded  to  know  who  it  was  who 
thus  disturbed  the  peace  of  the  night. 

"  Give  me  admission/'  demanded  Jedaan  im- 


Si 

peratively,  "  that  I  may  bring  comfort  to  the 
wounded  gentleman  who  lies  under  this  roof." 

Bidding  her  wait  until  he  had  donned  some 
clothes,  the  host  disappeared,  and,  unbarring 
the  heavy  door,  he  admitted  Jedaan,  though 
he  was  not  a  little  startled  as  the  gleam  from 
his  lantern  revealed  the  strange,  weird  figure 
of  his  visitor. 

"  Know  you  the  hurt  gentleman?  "  he  asked 
in  some  trepidation. 

"  Ay ;  conduct  me  to  him  at  once,"  was  Je- 
daan's  answer,  uttered  in  a  stern  and  command- 
ing tone. 

The  simple  countryman  was  awed,  and,  with 
trembling  hand  and  chattering  teeth,  he  held 
his  lantern  aloft,  and  guided  her  up  the  nar- 
row stairs  to  the  room  where  Manners  lay. 

Manners,  who  was  suffering  much  pain,  was 
amazed  at  Jedaan's  unexpected  appearance,  an 
amazement  that  was  shared  by  Aleyne,  who 
had  been  dozing  as  he  sat,  but  started  into  full 
wakefulness  as  the  woman  entered. 

"  The  day  has  had  its  surprises,"  said  Man- 
ners with  a  wan  smile,  "  and  the  night  is  not 
behind  the  day.  Why  come  you  at  such  an 
hour,  Jedaan?  " 

"  To  give  you  comfort." 

"  I  need  it,"  he  answered,  lightly,  "  for  my 


52 

life  ebbs,  and  before  to-morrow's  sun  has  set  I 
shall  have  passed  to  the  life  eternal." 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  your  future?  "  asked 
Jedaan  solemnly. 

"  Ay,  you  have  so  told  me ;  but  my  faith  is 
weak." 

"  Let  it  be  strong  again,  then,  for  I  tell  you 
your  time  of  departure  is  not  yet.  Let  me  see 
your  wound." 

Manners  was  reluctant  to  do  this;  but  Je- 
daan declared  that  her  own  skill  in  the  treat- 
ment of  wounds  was  not  inferior  to  a  surgeon's, 
and  mayhap  superior.  Moreover,  as  she  urged, 
to  wait  for  a  surgeon  in  such  cases  was  danger- 
ous, and  she  was  sure  she  could  give  him  ease 
and  sleep,  which  would  lessen  the  chance  of  a 
fever. 

Her  argument  told  and  her  manner  im- 
pressed so  that  the  suffering  man  yielded  him- 
self to  her.  He  had  been  pierced  on  the  top 
of  the  chest,  on  the  left  side,  close  to  the  shoul- 
der joint,  and  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood. 
With  extraordinary  dexterity  and  delicacy  of 
touch  she  removed  his  bandages,  and  examined 
the  wound  with  a  critical  eye. 

"  Tis  a  clean  wound,"  she  said,  "  though  a 
painful  one;  and,  as  there  has  been  no  blood 


53 

from  thy  mouth,  thou  wilt  be  but  little  the 
worse  for  this  sword  prick." 

From  under  her  petticoat  she  produced  a 
small  bag  of  untanned  leather.  The  contents 
of  the  bag  were  of  a  miscellaneous  character. 
There  were  phials  filled  with  colored  liquids, 
some  white  flax,  a  metal  box  containing  a 
green  ointment,  and  what  seemed  to  be  pieces 
of  bark  of  the  alder  or  willow  tree.  Having 
cleansed  the  wound  with  water  from  a  ewer 
that  stood  on  a  table,  she  poured  from  one  of 
her  phials  a  few  drops  of  lotion  into  it.  Next, 
she  soaked  a  pad  of  the  flax  with  some  other 
lotion,  and,  drawing  the  lips  of  the  wound  to- 
gether, she  cleverly  bound  the  flax  on  it  with 
a  piece  of  bark  straightened  out. 

The  dressing  completed,  she  prevailed  upon 
Manners  to  swallow  a  portion  of  the  contents 
of  another  of  her  phials,  and  then  she  sat  down 
to  watch  the  effect  of  her  treatment.  In  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  injured  man  showed 
every  symptom  of  extreme  drowsiness,  and  in 
another  quarter  of  an  hour  he  was  sleeping 
calmly  and  naturally.  Then  telling  Aleyne  to 
get  rest,  she  coiled  herself  up  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  wrapped  her  scarf  about  her  head, 
and  slumbered  soundly. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Will  Dawson,  the 


54 

head  woodsman  at  Haddon,  prompted  by  the 
large  reward  of  a  crown  which  was  offered  by 
Madge  for  news  of  the  wounded  man,  had  set 
off  on  his  errand  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon, and,  avoiding  the  road  by  keeping  to  the 
woods,  through  which  he  could  have  found  his 
way  blindfolded,  he  came  to  Darley,  where  he 
was  well  known.  He  had  a  chat  with  the  black- 
smith and  cobbler,  and  with  other  gossips  also, 
and,  as  each  one  had  his  own  and  different  ver- 
sion of  the  affair,  the  news-gatherer  was  some- 
what confused.  But  there  was  a  consensus  of 
opinion  that  the  "  poor  young  gentleman " 
who  was  lying  at  the  inn  was  "  wounded  unto 
death."  And,  finally,  when  Will,  over  a  jack 
of  foaming  October,  discussed  the  matter  with 
mine  host,  that  worthy  gave  such  a  lugubrious 
account  of  the  condition  of  his  guest,  and  pro- 
tested so  emphatically  that  the  "  dying  man  " 
must  not  be  disturbed,  that  Dawson  felt  there 
was  no  longer  any  ground  to  hope  that  "  Mas- 
ter Manners  "  would  live,  but  the  wound  being 
of  such  a  nature  the  rising  sun  would  find  him 
a  corpse. 

Thus  it  was  that  when,  late  in  the  day, 
Madge  went  to  Dorothy's  chamber  to  bid  her 
good-night  she  said  sadly: 

"  Will  Dawson  has  returned,  sweet  one,  and, 


55 

though  he  hath  muddled  his  brains  with  ale, 
he  tells  a  clear  story." 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  cried  Dorothy  with  great  ea- 
gerness, as  the  nurse  paused  in  her  speech. 

"  The  poor  young  gentleman,  as  it  seems, 
has  received  a  fatal  hurt,  and  lies  a-dying,"  said 
Madge  dolefully.  "  May  the  saints  receive 
him." 

Dorothy  gave  a  start. 

"  Poor  young  gentleman !  "  she  said  fervent- 
ly. "  God  pity  him !  How  sad !  how  sad ! " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A   LOWLY   DIPLOMATIST. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  that  even  at 
a  period  when  encounters  were  frequent,  the 
fight  at  Darley  caused  a  good  deal  of  excite- 
ment throughout  the  county.  There  were  cir- 
cumstances in  connection  with  it  that  gave  it  an 
interest  often  lacking  in  such  cases.  Of  course, 
there  were  many  versions  of  the  story,  for 
accurate  news  was  difficult  to  get;  but  the 
generally  accepted  one  was  that  the  combat 
had  been  between  rivals  for  the  hand  of  one 
of  Derbyshire's  most  beautiful  women.  This 
caused  Sir  George  Vernon  very  great  annoy- 
ance, and  he  did  his  best  to  counteract  it  by 
causing  a  public  announcement  to  be  made 
that  the  quarrel  was  between  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge  and  Mr.  John  Manners,  owing  to 
the  latter  having  attacked  the  reputation  of 
Sir  Falconer  in  a  hostelry. 

The  feelings  of  Lady  Matilda  may  perhaps 
be  far  better  imagined  than  described,  and  she 


57 

railed  against  Manners  in  terms  that  would 
hardly  have  been  justified  had  he  been  a  com- 
mon adventurer.  She  declared  that  he  had 
brought  bad  luck  to  the  house;  and  that  the 
beautiful  harmony  that  had  hitherto  prevailed 
had  been  entirely  disturbed  by  him.  Needless 
to  say  that  Dorothy  fell  under  the  lady's  deep 
displeasure,  for,  with  a  strangely  perverted 
sense  of  what  constituted  right  and  justice,  she 
blamed  Dorothy  as  being  one  of  the  causes  that 
had  led  to  the  encounter. 

Of  course,  Sir  George  Vernon  took  Doll's 
part;  but  this  only  made  matters  worse,  until 
it  was  decided  that  the  subject  should  be  ta- 
booed. For  several  days  after  the  fatal  en- 
counter Dorothy  had  to  keep  to  her  room,  or, 
at  the  most,  could  only  descend  to  the  terrace 
for  a  brief  taking  of  the  air.  The  stepmother 
was  pleased  to  think  that  the  indisposition  was 
due  to  a  "  fretting  fever  "  caused  by  Sir  Fal- 
coner's enforced  and  hurried  departure. 

Dorothy  wisely  held  her  peace,  and  the  Lady 
Matilda  would  probably  have  gone  into  hys- 
terics had  she  been  told  that  her  stepdaugh- 
ter was  a  good  deal  distressed  because  she  con- 
sidered she  had  treated  John  Manners  a  little 
harshly  on  the  occasion  of  the  first  and  last 
time  of  seeing  him.  This  distress  was  a  pure 


58 

sentiment  due  to  a  belief  that  Manners  was 
dead,  and  she  did  not  like  the  thought  that  on 
the  eve  of  his  death  she  had  been  unkind  to  a 
man  whose  only  fault  was  that  he  let  it  be 
known  that  he  was  struck  with  her  beauty.  It 
was  not  an  unnatural  sentiment  in  a  young 
lady  of  Dorothy's  romantic  temperament. 

A  fortnight  passed.  The  excitement  died 
down.  Haddon  resumed  its  normal  serenity; 
but  the  beautiful  weather  had  given  place  to 
chill  winds  and  damp  atmosphere.  Dorothy 
had  quite  recovered  from  her  slight  indisposi- 
tion, and  was  interesting  herself  immensely  in 
the  preparations  that  had  already  begun  for 
Margaret's  wedding.  Sir  Thomas  Stanley  had 
left,  and  had  gone  to  the  Isle  of  Man,  where 
duty  called  him,  and,  as  the  marriage  had  been 
fixed  to  take  place  late  in  the  autumn,  needle- 
women and  dressmakers  were  already  busy 
planning  the  bride's  trousseau,  for  the  trous- 
seau in  the  case  of  a  lady  of  her  standing  was 
a  formidable  affair,  and  generally  gave  em- 
ployment to  an  army  of  women  for  months. 

"  Doll,"  said  Madge  one  morning  when  she 
went  into  her  nursling's  chamber,  "  I  have 
news  for  you." 

"  Is't  good,  nurse?  " 

"  Well,  sweet  one,  it  isn't  bad." 


59 

"Then  don't  keep  me  in  suspense." 

"  Guess,  my  baby,  what  it  is,"  said  Madge 
with  a  smile. 

"  Nay,  dear  old  Madge,  don't  tease  me. 
Tell  me  your  news,  and  I  will  kiss  you." 

"  Well,  this  is  it.  Last  night  when  I  was  at 
the  buttery  hatch  waiting  for  my  ale  Will  Daw- 
son  came,  and  he  whispered  in  my  ear  that  he 
had  heard  that  Master  Manners  is  not  dead, 
after  all." 

Dorothy  visibly  started,  and  the  look  in  her 
eyes  said  as  plainly  as  words  that  the  news  was 
welcome  news. 

"  Right  glad  I  am  to  hear  it,"  she  replied, 
"  for  at  least  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  has  not 
the  death  of  this  poor  young  gentleman  on 
his  soul." 

"  Oh,  it  is  of  Sir  Falconer's  soul  you  think," 
cried  Madge  slyly;  and  then,  with  some 
warmth,  she  added :  "  But  Master  Manners 
owes  no  thanks  to  Sir  Falconer  for  his  life. 
I'll  wager  that  had  Sir  Falconer  had  his  will 
there  would  have  been  little  life  left  in  Man- 
ners." 

"  I  fear  'tis  so,"  murmured  Dorothy  with  a 
sigh.  "  But  Manners  lives,  if  your  news  be 
true,  and  may  God  keep  him  in  the  future !  " 


Go 

"  Amen  to  that.  But  would  you  not  like  to 
see  this  young  gentleman  again?  " 

"  Wherefore  should  I  wish  to  see  him?  He 
is  naught  to  me  nor  I  to  him.  I  am  glad  he 
has  escaped  with  his  life ;  but  there  my  interest 
ends.  You  must  speak  of  him  no  more." 

Poor  kindly  hearted  Madge  felt  rebuked. 
She  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Manners,  and,  even 
from  the  little  she  had  seen  of  him,  she  con- 
trasted him  with  Bracebridge,  to  the  latter's 
disadvantage.  And  she  had  indulged  in  a 
pretty  little  dream,  in  which  she  pictured  John 
Manners  and  Dorothy  Vernon  making  love  to 
each  other.  When,  therefore,  she  heard  that 
Manners  was  likely  to  recover  she  had  hastened 
joyfully  to  Dorothy  to  convey  the  information, 
and  to  be  told  now  that  with  his  recovery  in- 
terest ceased  was  rather  a  shock  to  her. 

"  If  your  interest  ceases,  lady-bird,"  she  an- 
swered, "  the  poor  young  gentleman's  may 
not." 

"  What  mean  you,  Madge?  " 

"  I  mean  that  perhaps  he  will  think  much 
and  long  of  you  to  his  undoing." 

"  Was  ever  such  nonsense  talked,"  cried 
Dorothy.  "  John  Manners  goes  forth  upon  his 
way  and  I  on  mine,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

Dorothy  rounded  off  her  speech  with  a  little 


6i 

sigh,  and  turned  to  her  mirror  to  glance  at  her 
sweet  face.  Then  Madge  stole  softly  to  her, 
and,  passing  her  arm  round  her  neck,  she  laid 
the  fair  head  on  her  shoulder,  and  said : 

"  Will  you  answer  me  one  question,  lady- 
bird, truthfully?  " 

"  That  will  I,  Madge,  if  I  can.  What  is 
it?" 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  John  Manners  just 
once  more?  " 

"  Nurse,  your  question  is  foolish." 

"  Nay,  nay,  'tis  a  fair  question,  and  I  have 
your  promise  that  you  would  answer  it  truth- 
fully." 

"  You  push  me  unfairly,  Madge,"  cried 
Dorothy  petulantly ;  "  but  since  it  is  so,  I 
should  like  to  see  John  Manners  once  more, 
if  it  were  only  to  give  him  greetings  of  his  re- 
covery." 

Old  Madge  smiled.  She  was  conscious  of 
having  scored  a  little  triumph,  and  she  was 
satisfied. 

Nurse  Madge  was  illiterate  and  uneducated ; 
but  if  Sir  George  Vernon — the  all-powerful 
king  of  the  Peak — and  his  lady  had  been  told 
that  this  lowly  servitor  saw  more  than  they, 
and  might  change  the  fortunes  of  their  house, 
they  would  have  laughed  scornfully  at  the  bare 


62 

idea.  Madge's  affection  for  her  "  nursling," 
as  she  loved  to  call  her,  tempted  her  to  do  bold 
things,  however,  for  no  other  earthly  reason 
than  that  of  assuring  Dorothy's  interest  and 
happiness,  and  feeling  sure  that  misery  only 
would  come  out  of  an  alliance  with  Brace- 
bridge,  she  was  anxious,  if  possible,  to  prevent 
that  alliance  from  ever  taking  place.  But  she 
herself  could  never  have  dreamed  that  her 
lowly  intriguing  would  have  such  tremendous 
results  as  those  which  followed. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN  DARLEY  DALE. 

When  John  Manners  awoke  from  the  re- 
freshing sleep  to  which  Jedaan's  care  and  skill 
had  soothed  him  he  felt  another  man.  His 
gloomy  forebodings  had  given  place  to  hope- 
fulness, and  so  deeply  impressed  was  he  with 
the  skill  of  the  strange  woman  that  he  asked 
his  friend,  Aleyne,  whether  he  thought  there 
was  any  necessity  to  send  to  Matlock,  as  pro- 
posed, for  the  surgeon.  Aleyne  felt  some  re- 
luctance to  take  the  responsibility  of  saying  it 
was  not  before  he  had  had  some  conversation 
with  Tedaan,  and,  as  she  had  disappeared,  he 
went  forth  to  make  inquiries  about  her.  He 
found  her  in  the  village  surrounded  with  a  lit- 
tle, eager  crowd  of  the  simple  country  folk. 

Jedaan  managed,  after  a  little,  to  escape 
from  her  audience,  and  converse  with  Aleyne, 
to  whom  she  pledged  her  assurance  that  she 
could  cure  his  friend  of  his  wound,  and  that 
she  would  depart  if  the  surgeon  was  sent  for. 


64 

In  the  end  Manners  decided  to  trust  himself 
entirely  to  her  care;  and,  as  he  now  felt  con- 
vinced that  in  his  case  no  vital  organ  was  in- 
jured, although  the  wound  was  deep  and  pain- 
ful, he  was  content  that  she  should  attend  to 
him.  She  rewarded  this  confidence  by  unre- 
mitting attention,  and  at  the  end  of  a  week 
he  was  allowed  to  get  up,  and  sit  in  the  sun- 
shine on  the  bowling  green  or  in  front  of  the 
hostelry,  according  to  his  fancy.  Jedaan,  how- 
ever, was  careful  to  bind  his  arm  with  bandages 
to  his  side,  so  that  he  could  not  move  it,  lest, 
as  she  said,  the  bleeding  might  start  afresh. 

As  Manners  was  now  anxious  about  his  peo- 
ple, fearing  that  exaggerated  reports  would 
reach  them,  and  throw  them  into  a  state  of 
anxiety  and  alarm,  he  dispatched  his  willing 
friend  Aleyne  to  them,  and  requested  him  to 
say  that  his  "  accident "  was  but  a  trifling  af- 
fair, and  though  it  had  laid  him  up  for  a  little 
while  he  was  speedily  recovering;  that  he  in- 
tended to  continue  his  journey,  and  hoped  to 
visit  the  forests  of  Leicestershire  and  Notting- 
hamshire before  returning. 

So  William  Aleyne  set  forth  upon  his  jour- 
ney, and  Manners  promised  to  remain  until  he 
should  return,  and  vowed  he  would  defend  him 
with  sword  and  purse  should  any  trouble  arise 


65 

out  of  the  death  of  Bardsdale,  which  was  not 
improbable  if  the  young  man's  people  had 
wealth  and  influence,  although  he  was  the  chal- 
lenger, and  had  been  killed  in  fair  fight. 

Of  course,  Manners  was  in  entire  ignorance 
of  the  extraordinary  interest  that  old  Madge 
took  in  his  welfare.  Will  Dawson  on  the  oc- 
casion of  his  first  visit  carried  back  a  report 
that  the  wounded  man  would  not  survive ;  but 
subsequent  visits  led  to  a  modification  of  this, 
and  finally  to  an  assurance  that  all  was  well, 
and  the  invalid  was  rapidly  recovering. 

One  day  it  chanced  when  Dawson  had  come 
to  the  hostelry  Manners  passed  him  on  his  way 
to  a  favorite  seat  under  a  spreading  tree  at 
the  corner  of  the  house. 

Dawson  touched  his  cap  to  Manners,  who, 
struck  by  the  forester's  splendid  physique  and 
sturdy  independence  of  manner,  readily  en- 
tered into  conversation  with  him.  And  when 
he  learned  that  he  was  head  forester  to  Sir 
George  Vernon  his  interest  increased  tenfold, 
and  he  plied  the  forester  with  questions  about 
the  family,  and  Dorothy  in  particular.  Honest 
Will  Dawson  was  confused  and  agitated  by 
having  the  honor  of  talking  to  this  gentleman 
of  quality,  the  son  of  an  Earl ;  and  when  Mas- 
ter John  Manners  pressed  a  guinea  upon  him 


66 

Will  Dawson's  bewilderment  deprived  him  of 
speech  altogether. 

An  hour  later,  as  Dawson  stood  by  his  horse, 
ready  to  mount  and  ride  home,  and  having  re- 
covered from  the  confusion  into  which  Man- 
ners' generosity  and  condescension  had  thrown 
him,  he  said  with  a  profound  obeisance : 

"  Sir,  I  am  your  humble  servant,  and  if  you 
would  deign*  to  intrust  me  with  any  message 
to  be  delivered  at  Haddon  it  shall  be  truly  and 
secretly  given." 

John  looked  at  the  speaker,  and  hesitated; 
then  said: 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  but  I  am  a  stranger. 
Why,  then,  should  I  send  messages?  " 

"  I  know  not,  sir,"  said  Will  as  he  got  into 
the  saddle,  "  but  if  you  will  pardon  my  freedom 
of  speech,  I  thought  you  would  command  me 
to  bespeak  you  well  to  Mistress  Dorothy." 

John  rose  from  his  seat,  patted  the  neck  of 
Dawson's  horse,  and  looked  into  the  man's 
face.  "  Think  you,  Dawson,"  he  asked,  "  that 
Mistress  Dorothy  has  heard  of  my  encounter 
with  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge?  " 

"  Do  I  think  so,  sir?  Nay,  'tis  common  talk 
at  the  Hall." 

"  Do  you  often  get  speech  with  Mistress 
Dorothy?" 


67 

"  Only  when  she  rides  in  the  woods  or  goes 
a-hawking  with  my  Lord,  or  takes  the  air  in 
company  with  Madge.  Ah,  sir,  she  is  a  sweet 
lady,  and  hath  no  false  pride." 

"  Truly  she  is  a  most  sweet  lady,  Dawson ! 
Now,  hark  ye,  should  you  have  an  opportunity 
of  speaking  to  her  soon,  say  you  have  talked 
with  the  poor  gentleman  who  was  wounded, 
and  that  he  prays  for  God's  blessings  upon  her. 
You  need  not  say  more." 

Manners  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  turned 
away,  and  Dawson  added: 

"  By  the  saints  I  swear  I  will  also  tell  her 
that  you  sighed  as  if  your  own  heart,  were 
bursting  with  love  of  her ! " 

Manners  faced  round  quickly  and  half-an- 
grily,  but  Dawson  had  dug  his  heels  into  the 
mare's  sides,  and  was  galloping  away. 

When  another  few  days  had  passed  the 
young  man's  wound,  though  still  tender,  was 
healed,  thanks  to  his  own  good  constitution 
and  Jedaan's  assiduous  care.  The  weird  wom- 
an felt  that  her  services  were  no  longer  re- 
quired, so  left  him,  amply  and  generously  re- 
warded for  her  services.  Before  parting  from 
him,  and  as  if  divining  his  thoughts,  she  said : 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,  sir.     I  have  seen  your 


68 

star  at  night  in  the  heavens,  and  it  shines  with 
surpassing  luster." 

''  Would  that  I  had  faith  in  all  your  fore- 
tellings,"  he  answered,  "  but  my  mind  refuses 
to  receive  them.  My  heart  is  hardened.  My 
star  may  shine,  but  I  myself  am  in  the  dark." 

"  Fate  is  fate,  and  destiny  cannot  be  per- 
verted," was  her  somewhat  mystical  reply,  as 
she  kissed  his  hand,  said  "  farewell,"  and  added 
as  the  final  word,  and  speaking  as  one  who 
prophesies :  "  We  shall  meet  again." 

The  strange  woman  had  gone,  and  he  was 
alone,  and  felt  lonelier  than  ever.  Another 
week  was  added  to  the  past,  and  his  friend  was 
still  absent.  The  servant  had  returned,  bring- 
ing no  news,  and  as  the  situation  had  become 
unbearable  Manners  resolved  to  depart,  leav- 
ing word  that  he  was  riding  to  Derby,  and 
would  be  found  at  the  hostelry  of  the  "  Black 
Bear."  But  before  he  could  set  out  his  resolu- 
tion was  suddenly  changed  by  the  arrival  of 
Will  Dawson.  The  forester  had  evidently  rid- 
den hard,  and,  drawing  rein  in  front  of  the 
hostelry,  he  sprang  from  the  saddle  and  gave 
the  bridle  to  a  hanger-on  who  was  idling  about 
the  doorway.  Entering  the  hostelry,  he  inr 
quired  of  the  landlord  for  John  Manners,  whq 


69 

happened  to  be  giving  his  servant  some  in- 
structions. 

"  Ah,  Dawson !  "  exclaimed  John,  as  he  rec- 
ognized the  woodman.  "  I  was  about  to  de- 
part. In  another  half  hour  I  should  have  been 
well  advanced  upon  my  journey." 

"  In  which  case,  sir,"  answered  Will,  "  I 
must  have  sped  after  you,  since  I  am  charged 
to  give  a  message  to  you  privately." 

With  curiosity  and  interest  alike  aroused, 
Manners  drew  the  bearer  of  this  irrtportant 
message  on  one  side,  and  said : 

"  And  now  speak  your  message,  for  I  am 
all  eagerness." 

"  It  is  from  Nurse  Madge,  if  it  please  you." 

"  From  Nurse  Madge,"  repeated  John  with 
an  air  of  disappointment  and  disgust. 

"  Ay,  sir;  and  she  bade  me  speed  to  you  and 
say  that  to-morrow  at  noon  she  will  be  riding 
past  the  woodman's  hut  in  the  lower  chase  of 
Haddon  on  the  eastern  side." 

"  But  how  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
does  it  affect  me?  "  asked  the  mystified  John 
Manners. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not,  sir,  save  it  be  that  Mis- 
tress Dorothy  will  be  riding  with  her." 

"  What  a  dull-pated  ass  I  am,"  thought 
John  to  himself,  "  not  to  have  guessed  this  J  " 


70 

He  questioned  no  further,  and  when  Daw- 
son  had  refreshed  himself  he  took  his  depart- 
ure. 

Left  to  his  own  reflections,  however,  John 
Manners  felt  bewildered  by  the  thoughts  that 
crowded  through  his  brains.  "  Was  this  a  gen- 
uine assignation  on  the  part  of  Madge,"  he 
mused,  "  or  a  deep-laid  scheme  against  his 
honor  or  his  safety?  If  it  were  the  latter,  and 
Bracebridge  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  plot, 
then  he  would  make  sure  that  the  hot-tem- 
pered knight  should  not  escape  a  second  time." 


CHAPTER  IX. 
AT  THE  WOODMAN'S  HUT. 

How  slowly  and  leaden-footed  the  hours  of 
the  night  sped  away  for  John  Manners.  Sleep 
came  to  him  only  in  fitful  snatches,  and  during 
the  wakeful  intervals  the  silence  and  loneliness 
were  well-nigh  maddening,  for  he  was  on  ten- 
ter-hooks ;  his  nerves  were  strung  to  their  full- 
est tension.  One  moment  it  seemed  to  him 
he  was  being  made  the  sport  of  a  cruel  destiny ; 
the  next,  hope  filled  him  with  delight,  to  be 
succeeded,  however,  by  fits  of  despair.  As  the 
night  waned,  he  sank  from  sheer  exhaustion 
into  a  heavy  slumber,  from  which  he  awoke 
unrefreshed;  and  when  he  glanced  into  the 
mirror  he  was  startled  to  note  how  dull  his 
eyes  were  and  how  deep  the  shadows  beneath. 

The  morning,  like  his  spirits,  was  dull  and 
gloomy.  A  searching  wind  blew  along  the 
valley,  tossing  the  branches  of  the  trees  about 
with  a  meaningless  fury,  and  raising  clouds  of 
dust.  .The  sky  was  heavy,  and  there  were 


72 

signs  that  presaged  rain.  Necessarily  this  was 
not  conducive  to  John  Manners'  well-being, 
for  if  rain  fell  it  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that 
Mistress  Dorothy  Vernon  would  ride  forth  in 
the  woods.  And  so  he  watched  the  lowering 
sky,  and  listened  to  the  fiendish  screech  of  the 
wind  in  anything  but  pleasant  mood.  In  his 
morbid  state  it  seemed  as  if  everybody  and 
everything  were  conspiring  against  him. 

It  was  only  a  little  after  ten  when  he 
mounted  his  horse  to  ride  to  Rowsley.  On  his 
way  toward  Haddon  the  one  figure  and  sub- 
ject of  his  thoughts  was  Dorothy  Vernon. 
Fool  he  might  be,  and  a  dreamer  of  impossible 
dreams,  but  it  was  undeniable  that  for  the 
time  being  he  was  completely  under  the  spell 
of  Dorothy  Vernon's  bewitching  beauty. 

On  reaching  Rowsley  he  stalled  his  horse 
at  the  tavern  there,  and  set  forth  on  foot  to 
the  place  named  by  Dawson  as  the  rendezvous. 
His  heart,  however,  was  heavy  as  lead,  for  the 
gloom  of  the  sky  had  increased,  and  a  com- 
ing storm  was  heralded  by  big  drops  of  rain. 

"  She  will  not  come  in  the  rain,"  he  thought, 
"  and  I  shall  not  again  see  her  dear,  dear, 
sweet  face !  " 

Nevertheless,  he  pursued  his  journey 
through  the  Meadow.  He  did  not  hurry, 


73 

What  need  was  there  to  hurry?  He  was  even 
yet  in  advance  of  the  time  named,  and  in  such 
rain  and  wind  Mistress  Dorothy  Vernon  would 
not  venture  forth,  but  would  be  snugly  housed 
beneath  Haddon's  sheltering  roof,  and  bestow- 
ing no  thought  on  the  foolish  gentleman,  who 
was  plowing  his  way  over  the  wet  and  mossy 
track  in  the  vain  hope  of  beholding  her.  Such 
was  his  belief,  and  he  railed  against  Fate, 
against  the  weather,  against  everything,  in  fact. 
And  though  he  would  go  as  far  as  the  spot 
named  by  Dawson,  he  had  no  intention  of 
lingering  there.  Not  he!  He  would  at  once 
hasten  back,  and  that  night  would  sleep  in 
Derby  and  visit  Haddon's  Vale  no  more. 

At  last  the  trail  he  had  been  following  bent 
at  an  acute  angle  upward,  and  casting  his 
forlorn  eyes  in  the  direction  in  which  it  trended 
he  beheld  the  goal — a  rustic  hut  built  of 
gnarled  branches,  and  thatched  deeply  with 
straw.  Melancholy,  indeed,  it  looked  in  the 
gloom  that  pervaded  the  forest,  and,  so  far  as 
he  could  see,  no  living  thing  stirred  within 
or  without.  The  ascent  was  steep,  the  moss 
and  dead  leaves  wet  and  slippery,  so  that  he 
toiled  up  with  difficulty. 

When  within  a  short  distance  of  the  hut,  a 


74 

sound  broke  upon  his  ears,  a  sound  that  thrilled 
and  startled  him.    It  was  a  voice. 

He  paused  and  listened. 

It  was  a  woman's  voice,  full  of  rich,  sweet 
tones.  The  blood  quickened  in  his  veins.  He 
heard  his  heart  beat ;  the  pulses  in  his  temples 
rapped  a  tattoo.  Neither  wet  moss  nor  slip- 
pery leaves  could  stay  his  feet  now.  He  hur- 
ried forward,  and  beheld,  sheltering  beneath 
the  porch  of  the  hut,  Mistress  Dorothy  Ver- 
non  and  dear  old  Nurse  Madge. 

It  is  a  question  whether  John  Manners  or 
Dorothy  Vernon  was  most  confused  as  their 
glances  met  and  fell  again.  And  suddenly  the 
gentleman  remembered  that  he  must  surely  ap- 
pear somewhat  draggled,  for  the  wind  had 
battered  and  the  rain  had  drenched.  Therefore 
he  tugged  at  his  doublet,  gave  his  cloak  a 
shake,  glanced  uneasily  at  his  mud-stained 
shoes,  and  saw  with  dismay  that  the  plumes  of 
his  hat  were  in  sorry  plight.  All  this  was 
momentary,  he  was  conscious  of  bowing  very 
low,  and  stammering  out  some  pretty  fiction 
about  how  surprised  he  was  at  this  unexpected 
meeting. 

Madges  eyes  twinkled. 

"  By  what  strange  chance,  sir,  did  you  come 
here  on  such  a  day?  " 


75 

"  It  was  a  most  kind  Fate  that  surely  led 
me,"  he  answered,  as  a  sigh  escaped  him. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Dorothy,  "  that 
you  should  come  at  this  time.  Madge  and  I 
rode  out  to  take  the  air,  but  the  rain  fell  so 
persistently  that  we  were  driven  here  for  shel- 
ter." 

Manners  had  begun  to  recover  his  self-pos- 
session. "  It  is  dear,  dear  rain,"  he  said, 
"  since  it  has  enabled  me  to  see  you  once 
again,  lady.  I  can  now  apologize  for  my  rude- 
ness when  we  last  met,  and  then,  when  your 
gracious  pardon  is  bestowed,  I  will  say  fare- 
well." 

"  Are  you  going  away?  "  she  asked  quickly, 
and  as  if  surprised. 

"  Ay,  lady ;  I  think  I  shall  go  beyond  the 
seas,  and  tempt  fortune  in  other  lands." 

"  And  pray,  sir,"  demanded  Dorothy,  "  has 
fortune  treated  you  so  badly  in  this  poor  coun- 
try that  you  feel  free  to  woo  her  elsewhere?  " 

He  tried  to  look  straight  into  her  eyes,  but 
she  averted  them  hastily.  There  was  such  a 
wistful  expression  in  her  soft  eyes,  that  no 
sweeter  picture  than  she  presented  could  pos- 
sibly have  been  imagined.  She  wore  a  riding 
cloak  of  silver  gray,  with  a  hood  that,  com- 
ing up  over  her  head,  framed  her  beautiful 


76 

face,  until  she  appeared,  to  Manners'  enrap- 
tured gaze,  like  the  realization  of  some  pic- 
tured saint.  To  his  eyes  never  before  had 
woman  looked  so  beautiful,  and  the  admiration 
he  felt  displayed  itself  in  his  expression.  That 
she  read  his  thoughts,  and  was  conscious  of 
the  impression  she  was  making  upon  him  was 
more  than  probable,  for  she  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, as  if  desirous  of  turning  the  drift  of 
the  conversation: 

"  I  ask  your  forgiveness,  Master  Manners, 
that  I  should  have  been  so  forgetful  of  your 
health  as  to  fail  to  ask  you  how  you  have  been 
recently?  " 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  sweet  lady,  for  this  in- 
terest. I  am  very  well." 

"  And  yet  I  have  heard  you  were  severely 
wounded." 

"  'Twas  but  a  scratch." 

"  Then  the  gossips  have  lied,  for  'twas  said 
that  you  were  sick  unto  death." 

"  Death  has  passed  me  by  and  taken  better 
men." 

"  Say  rather  that  the  good  God  has  spared 
you  for  better  fortune.  But  I  should  like  to 
hear  from  your  own  lips  the  cause  of  quarrel." 

"  Words,  words,  my  lady,"  he  answered  with 
a  smile,  "  and  yet  words  of  grave  offense 


77 

lightly  spoken,   against   Sir  Falconer   Brace- 
bridge." 

"  Tell  me,  Master  Manners,"  she  said  with  a 
strange,  eager  earnestness,  "  and  tell  me  truly, 
know  you  aught  of  evil  against  Sir  Falconer?  " 

A  pitiable  look  of  despair  swept  across  Man- 
ners' face  at  this  question,  for  it  placed  him, 
as  it  seemed,  in  an  exceedingly  awkward  and 
delicate  position.  Here  was  an  affianced  bride 
asking  him  if  he  knew  anything  evil  of  the  man 
who  stood  in  the  position  of  her  husband-elect. 
A  man  less  endowed  with  scrupulous  honor 
than  was  John  Manners  might  have  sought  to 
benefit  himself  by  trying  to  disgrace  his  rival, 
but  Manners  shrank  with  an  acute  sensitive- 
ness from  even  seeming  to  do  so. 

"  My  Lady  Dorothy,"  he  said  at  last,  "  Sir 
Falconer  Bracebridge — who  as  I  understand  is 
to  be  your  wedded  lord — and  I  have  crossed 
swords,  and  a  young  gentleman  has  been  slain 
because  in  idle  moments  I  spoke  some  ill-con- 
sidered words." 

Dorothy  Vernon's  face  underwent  a  com- 
plete change.  She  looked  stern,  commanding, 
imperious,  and  when  she  spoke  her  tone  did 
not  belie  her  looks. 

"  Master  Manners,  you  are  but  juggling 
with  the  truth.  If  your  words  were  without 


78 

warrant,  then  were  you  guilty  of  a  most  wicked 
act,  since  one  gentleman  has  been  slain  by 
cause  thereof,  and  between  you  and  Sir  Fal- 
coner bad  blood  has  been  begot,  the  end  of 
which  no  man  can  foresee.  If,  on  the  con- 
trary, there  was  warrant  for  your  words,  I,  as 
having  great  interest  therein,  demand  to  know 
your  warrant." 

In  the  pitiable  dilemma  in  which  he  then 
found  himself  Manners  almost  wished  that  the 
earth  would  open  and  swallow  him*.  He 
looked  round  intending  to  appeal  dumbly  to 
the  humble  Madge  in  the  hope  that  she  might 
perchance  come  to  his  rescue;  but  the  old 
woman,  taking  advantage  of  Manners'  and 
Dorothy's  absorption  in  each  other,  had 
slipped  away,  and  gone  to  where  the  horses 
were  tethered  in  a  shed  at  the  back  of  the 
hut.  There  she  had  been  joined  by  Will  Daw- 
son,  who  had  come  down  from  the  upper  wood 
with  a  bag  of  game,  and  the  two  were  in  deep 
conversation. 

At  length  John  Manners  rose  to  the  occa- 
sion. He  could  not,  and  would  not,  descend 
to  a  meanness.  Placing  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  and  looking  into  her  searching  eyes 
with  honest,  unwavering  gaze,  he  said  with  al- 
most ponderous  solemnity: 


79 

"  My  Lady  Dorothy,  I  know  nothing  from 
personal  knowledge  of  Sir  Falconer  Brace- 
bridge." 

"  Master  Manners,"  replied  Dorothy,  almost 
as  solemnly,  "  it  runs  that  at  the  Boar's  Head 
in  Bakewell  you  said  that  against  Sir  Falconer 
which  has  led  to  sad  shedding  of  blood.  If  I 
read  you  aright,  I  am  sure  you  would  not  say 
things  of  such  moment  without  fair  warrant. 
Now,  sir,  I  beseech  frankness  on  your 
part " 


But  Sir  Falconer  is  to  be  your  lord- 


"  What  matters  it?"  she  exclaimed  with  a 
warmth  that  startled  him.  "  On  your  honor, 
sir,  as  an  honest  gentleman,  give  me  the  in- 
formation I  seek." 

"  You  appeal  to  my  honor,  lady,  and  I 
yield.  On  many  authorities  I  have  heard  that 
Sir  Falconer  is  a  dicer,  that  he  is  a  man  of 
loose  habits,  that  he  hath  been  in  many  broils 
by  reason  of  an  unhappy  temper,  and  that  in 
his  cups  he  hath  been  known  to  speak  lightly 
of  the  fame  of  many  fair  women.  These  mat- 
ters, lady,  are  common  talk,  and  when  a  man's 
reputation  is  assailed  by  many  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  at  least  a  few  speak  truly.  When  I  al- 
lowed my  tongue  to  loosely  wag  against  Sir 
Falconer  I  but  repeated  what  men  have  been 


8o 

saying  this  many  a  day ;  and  I  beg  you  to  re- 
member, lady,  that  I  spoke  them  without  prej- 
udice in  my  own  favor,  for  I  knew  you  not." 

Dorothy  Vernon  shuddered,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment covered  her  face  with  her  hands  as  if  she 
were  horrified.  That  she  was  greatly  agitated 
was  obvious,  and  he  was  about  to  say  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  an  apology,  when  she 
stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  Master  Manners,  I  thank  you,"  she  said 
in  a  tone  that  told  plainly  of  emotion,  "  and  I 
beseech  you  to  summon  my  nurse." 

He  looked  at  her  through  a  mist.  So  stirred 
were  the  depths  of  his  emotion  that  a  watery 
film  gathered  in  his  eyes. 

"  One  word,  Lady  Dorothy,"  he  cried. 
"  Since  we  must  part  to  meet  no  more,  say  that 
you  do  not  despise  me,  that  you  do  not  hate 
me." 

Dorothy  dare  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 
There  was  a  lump  in  her  throat;  she  felt  as  if 
she  must  weep.  She  averted  her  face,  and  held 
her  hand  toward  him.  In  an  instant  he  was 
on  his  knee,  and,  seizing  her  hand,  kissed  it 
again  and  again.  Suddenly  she  withdrew  it  as 
a  footstep  startled  her,  and  Madge  reappeared. 
She  was  turning  to  go  again,  saying:  "  Call 
me,  sweet  dove,  when  you  are  ready,"  when 


8i 

Dorothy  flung  her  arms  out  toward  her,  and 
faltered  with  a  choking  sob :  "  Madge, 
Madge !  "  The  nurse  caught  her  to  her  bosom, 
and  demanded  in  fiery  tones  as  she  looked  at 
Manners : 

"  What  means  this?  Have  you  insulted  my 
sweet  child?  Thou  shalt  pay  dearly  if  so. 
What  ho,  Will,  Will  Dawson !  " 

Dawson  came  rushing  from  the  shed,  and 
Madge  was  about  to  address  him,  when  by  a 
supreme  effort  Dorothy  drew  herself  up. 

"  Peace,  nurse,"  she  said,  "  and  you,  Will 
Dawson,  stand  back.  Behold,  I  allow  this 
gentleman  to  salute  my  hand.  What  need  you 
more  for  answer?  "  She  suited  the  action  to 
the  word,  held  forth  her  beautiful  hand,  and 
once  again  Manners  pressed  his  lips  to  it. 

"  Forgive  me,  lady-bird,"  sobbed  dear  old 
Madge,  as  she  used  her  knuckles  to  rub  the 
tears  from'  her  cheeks.  "  I  thought  that  Mas- 
ter Manners  had  angered  you.  And  you,  sir, 
forgive  me.  Will  Dawson,  bring  the  horses, 
for  we  must  get  home.  The  rain  has  ceased, 
but  I  doubt  if  it  will  hold  fine  for  long." 

Like  one  in  a  dream  Manners  saw  Dawson 
bring  the  horses  round ;  like  one  in  a  dream  he 
helped  Dorothy  into  fier  saddle;  and  long  he 
stood  stock  still  wondering  if  he  had  really 


82 

heard  her  whisper :  "  Ere  you  go  to  lands  be- 
yond the  seas  we  shall  meet  again."  Had  he 
really  seen  her  just  before  a  bend  in  the  path- 
way hid  her  from  his  view  turn  and  wave  her 
handkerchief  to  him?  How  long  did  he  stand 
there?  Was  it  seconds,  minutes,  or  hours? 
He  knew  not.  He  took  no  count  of  time. 

The  rain  was  falling  again.  It  dripped  and 
sang  Dorothy.  The  wind  talked  to  the  trees, 
and  its  theme  was  Dorothy,  and  his  own  heart 
said  "  Dorothy  "  in  every  beat. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A     LETTER     FROM     BRACEBRIDGE DOROTHY'S 

DESPAIR. 

That  fateful  meeting  at  the  woodman's  hut 
in  Haddon  Chase  between  Dorothy  Vernon 
and  John  Manners  was  due  entirely  to  the 
scheming  of  Nurse  Madge,  who,  humble  and 
lowly  though  she  was,  had,  by  a  freak  of 
chance,  become  the  shaper  of  the  destinies,  so 
to  speak,  of  the  house  of  her  master,  and  the 
house  of  Manners.  This  faithful  old  nurse  had 
seen  many  would-be  wooers  come  buzzing 
around  her  "  most  sweet  child,"  and  she  had 
approved  of  none  of  them;  but  when  John 
Manners  came  before  her  something  in  his 
bearing,  his  looks,  his  eye,  his  voice,  struck  her ; 
arrested  her  attention,  and,  by  reason  of  some 
unerring  instinct,  or  intuitive  faculty  of  ap- 
praising the  virtue  and  vices  of  the  opposite 
sex  which  she  possessed,  she  pronounced  him 
satisfactory.  But  even  this  would  not  have 
availed  him  if  her  keen  old  eyes  had  not  de- 


84 

tected  in  her  charge  signs  of  admiration  of 
John;  for  from  the  first  time  she  first  set  eyes 
upon  him,  Dorothy  thought  him  handsome 
and  attractive;  and  this  determined  Madge  to 
take  such  means  as  she  was  capable  of  com- 
manding to  give  Dorothy  another  opportunity 
of  seeing  the  man  who  had  made  such  a 
strange  impression  upon  her.  Then  Manners 
had  opposed  himself  to  the  hectoring  Sir  Fal- 
coner. This  caused  Madge's  dormant  sympa- 
thies to  spring  into  full  activity,  and  she  had 
maneuvered  to  bring  about  that  meeting  at  the 
woodman's  hut. 

When  Madge  and  Dorothy  rode  away  after 
the  interview  the  old  woman  was  a  little  bit 
mystified  by  what  she  had  witnessed,  and,  as 
Doll  volunteered  no  explanation,  she  endeav- 
ored to  elicit  one  by  asking : 

"  What  do  you  think  now  of  John  Manners, 
my  chick?  " 

The  pale,  sweet  face  had  never  before,  to 
Madge's  knowledge,  looked  so  solemn  with 
thought,  or  so  troubled  with  some  conflicting 
emotion. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me  now,  dear  nurse,"  was 
Dorothy's  answer.  "  My  mind  is  in  a  whirl." 

"jYour  face  is  sorrowful,  little  one,"  per- 


85 

sisted   Madge.      "  John   Manners  must  have 
dealt  unkindly  with  thee." 

An  expressive  glance  from  the  soft,  pensive 
eyes  told  her  nurse  more,  perhaps,  than  even 
the  words  that  followed  did.  "  John  Manners 
is  a  true  man  and  an  honest  gentleman,"  was 
Dorothy's  response.  "  But,  please,"  she 
pleaded,  "  let  me  be  silent,  for  indeed  I  have 
much  to  think  about." 

The  nurse  questioned  no  further;  and 
through  the  pattering  rain  they  pursued  the 
rest  of  their  way  in  silence.  On  reaching  the 
Hall,  Dorothy  was  informed  that  Lady  Matilda 
had  been  making  inquiries  for  her,  and  had 
given  word  that  as  soon  as  she  returned  she 
was  to  attend  her  Ladyship  at  once  in  her 
room.  This  message  seemed  pregnant  with 
coming  trouble,  and,  when  the  nurse  had  made 
her  charge  presentable,  Dorothy  prepared  to 
face  it.  A  glance  at  her  stepmother's  stern 
face  did  not  reassure  her.  The  lady  was  sort- 
ing out  some  threads  for  tapestry  work,  but 
turned  as  Dorothy  entered,  and  demanded  to 
know  how  she  had  been  employing  her  time 
for  the  past  three  hours. 

"  I  was  riding  in  the  woods  with  Madge  to 
take  the  air." 

"  A   most  improper  thing  to  do   in   such 


86 

weather.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  a  severe 
attack  of  cold  should  follow.' 

"  But  the  rain  has  not  wet  me,  madam." 

"  Pray,  Mistress  Dorothy,  what  makes  you 
proof  against  the  rain?  " 

"  I  mean,"  explained  Doll  meekly,  "  I  mean 
the  rain  has  not  wet  me  to  my  hurt." 

"  Oh,  oh,  you  say  one  thing  and  mean  an- 
other. But,  seriously,  it  seems  to  me  that 
dangers  other  than  from  the  rain  may  arise 
to  a  well-favored  maiden  who  rides  forth 
alone." 

"  But  Madge  accompanied  m"e." 

"  Pshaw !  Madge,  forsooth !  I  do  not  ap- 
prove of  this  wandering  forth  alone,  and  I 
shall  urge  thy  father  to  give  such  commands 
as  you  will  do  well  to  obey  in  future.  For  a 
wandering  maiden  is  never  safe  from  graceless 
churls  who  boast  in  their  tavern  orgies  of  their 
conquests,  and  speak  lightly  of  the  fame  of 
even  the  most  high-born." 

Poor  Dorothy  remained  silent.  Further 
argument  would  only  provoke  further  irritat- 
ing remarks.  "  But  I  have  news  for  you," 
continued  the  good  lady  when  she  found  that 
Doll  held  her  peace.  "  Letters  have  come  by 
special  courier  from  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge, 
who  sends  loving  greetings  to  you,  and  in- 


87 

quires  tenderly  for  your  health  and  happiness. 
He  speaks  of  his  sorrow  for  the  awful  grief  of 
Sir  Ralph  Bardsdale's  mother  and  father  when 
they  received  back  their  dead  boy.  Indeed, 
indeed,  it  rends  my  heart,  oh!  to  think  that 
this  great  sorrow  should  have  been  brought 
about  by  that  adventurer,  Manners,  and  his 
companion.  A  pest  on  them  both,  and  on  their 
houses ! " 

Dorothy's  blood  boiled;  but  she  restrained 
herself,  for  she  failed  not  to  see  that  if  she  at- 
tempted anything  in  the  nature  of  a  defense  of 
Manners  it  would  only  bring  the  storm  about 
her  own  head. 

Lady  Vernon  waited  for  an  expected  out- 
burst, but,  none  coming,  she  sullenly  went  on : 
"  Now,  for  more  pleasant  matters  of  thy  fu- 
ture lord's  letter.  He  tells  me  to  convey  to 
you  the  news  that  following  hard  upon  his 
letter  he  himself  will  return  within  a  week,  and 
he  begs  me  further  to  plead  with  your  father 
that  there  shall  be  a  formal  betrothal  and  a 
day  of  marriage  fixed." 

Dorothy  gave  an  involuntary  start;  but 
Lady  Matilda  failed  to  notice  it,  and  continued : 
"  It  is  a  happy  thing  that  so  noble  a  gentle- 
man as  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  has  sought- 
your  hand  at  the  very  time  that  we  are  re- 


joicing  at  our  dear  Margaret's  betrothal. 
Truly,  my  lord  has  cause  for  congratulation, 
and  you  that  Heaven  has  smiled  so  favorably 
upon  you." 

Dorothy's  thoughts  had  been  wandering 
elsewhere,  but  her  stepmother's  question  re- 
called her,  and  though  she  felt  bewildered  she 
gave  a  clever  answer. 

"  Heaven  has  smiled  upon  my  sister,  and 
though  I  have  many  sins  that  I  pray  may  be 
purged  away,  I  know  of  no  such  high  offense 
in  the  sight  of  Heaven  that  its  smiles  should 
be  withheld  from  me." 

"  Tis  well  said,  and  as  my  Lady  Brace- 
bridge  you  will  have  cause  for  much  thankful- 
ness." 

The  Lady  Vernon,  having  exhausted  her 
subject,  kissed  her  stepdaughter  coldly  on  the 
forehead,  and  dismissed  her,  much  to  Doro- 
thy's relief.  But  so  intense  had  been  the  strain 
on  the  poor  girl's  feelings,  and  so  overstrung 
were  her  nerves,  that  when  she  found  herself 
alone  in  her  chamber  she  shot  the  bolt  of  the 
massive  door  and  wept.  The  weeping  was  the 
natural  outcome  of  all  she  had  gone  through. 

That  same  afternoon  Lady  Vernon  ap- 
proached her  husband  on  the  subject  of  Brace- 
bridge's  proposal  Sir  George  expressed  no  dis- 


89 

approval  of  the  suggested  betrothal,  but  he 
showed  himself  averse  to  an  early  marriage. 

"  You  must  not  forget,  dame,"  he  urged  as 
a  cogent  reason  for  delay,  "  my  daughter  Mar- 
garet goes  from  me  within  the  year,  and  it 
would  rend  my  heart  in  pieces  if  I  were  to  be 
deprived  at  the  same  time  of  my  sweet  Doll. 
A  man  who  gives  his  daughters  in  marriage 
knows  that  he  is  opening  out  for  them  a  new 
life,  but  whether  for  happiness  or  misery  he 
cannot  tell.  But  he  does  know  this ;  the  going 
from  him  of  his  children  takes  from  him  joys 
that  never,  never  can  return.  Their  departure 
reminds  him  that  the  fires  of  his  life  burn  low, 
and  soon  only  the  gray  ashes  will  remain." 

This  little  bit  of  homely  and  deeply  felt  senti- 
ment found  no  echo  in  his  lady's  breast.  S'he 
was  artful  enough,  however,  not  to  attempt  to 
win  her  lord  by  counter  argument,  so  she  ap- 
peared to  acquiesce  in  Sir  George's  views, 
though  she  made  a  mental  resolve  that  things 
should  be  as  she  desired. 

Lady  Vernon  had  yet  to  learn  that  there 
was  something  in  the  world  stronger  than  even 
her  imperious  will,  and  more  resourceful  than 
her  astute  diplomacy.  Dorothy's  fate  was 
sealed  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  but  she  had 
forgot  that  "  love  laughs  at  locksmiths,"  and 


90 

that  Dorothy  was  no  longer  a  child.  But  even 
Dorothy  did  not  guess  the  startling  and  tragic 
events  which  lay  in  the  immediate  future,  and 
were  to  exercise  such  a  tremendous  influence 
on  her  life  and  that  of  her  family. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

TRAPPED. 

John  Manners  could  no  longer  be  in  any; 
doubt  as  to  the  true  state  of  his  feelings  for 
Mistress  Dorothy  Vernon.  The  Hand  of  Des- 
tiny had  grasped  him;  and  henceforth  he  would 
be  moved  as  a  piece  on  a  chess-board.  In  the 
light  of  what  had  transpired  at  the  Woodman's 
Hut  on  the  day  when  the  rains  fell  and  the 
winds  blew,  the  prophecies  of  Jedaan  the  Gipsy 
appeared  less  wild  and  improbable. 

As  was  only  natural,  however,  his  buoyancy 
and  hopefulness  underwent  a  sudden  change, 
and  for  days  he  endured  that  suspense  of  love 
which  ofttimes  is  so  hard  to  bear.  She  had 
said  at  the  moment  of  parting,  "  Before  thou 
goest  to  lands  beyond  the  sea  we  shall  meet 
again."  What  did  she  mean  by  that?  Surely 
she  would  send  him  a  message,  a  sign.  But 
days  came  and  went,  and  brought  no  sign. 
Thus  he  alternated  between  hope  and  fear; 
when  at  last,  to  his  joy  and  relief,  William 


92 

Aleyne,  returned.  He  brought  with  him 
money  and  anxious  messages,  and  a  firm  re- 
quest that  John  Manners  would  depart  out  of 
Derbyshire  and  return  to  his  people. 

Aleyne's  journey  had  been  uneventful.  He 
had  soon  told  all,  and  been  told  in  turn  of 
his  friend's  doings  since  the  parting.  Aleyne 
brought  his  cool,  dispassionate  reasoning  to 
bear  upon  the  situation,  and  this  was  his 
judgment. 

"  It  is  as  clear  as  daylight  that  Dawson's 
coming  to  you  was  prompted  by  the  old  nurse, 
who  wished  to  bring  you  and  Mistress  Doro- 
thy Vernon  together,  that  she  might  hear  from 
your  own  lips  the  story  of  your  quarrel  with 
Bracebridge,  and  the  causes  that  led  to  it. 
That  object  being  now  accomplished,  you  will 
hear  no  more  from  the  lady,  and  it  is  now  your 
duty  to  leave  this  place  and  wipe  her  from 
your  memory." 

This  advice,  on  the  face  of  it,  was  sound,  but 
it  was  hardly  likely  to  weigh  with  a  man  who 
was  drunk  with  love,  and  in  whose  ears  still 
rang  the  words,  "  Before  thou  goest  beyond 
the  seas  we  shall  meet  again." 

"  Will,  good  friend,"  answered  Manners,  "  I 
am  sure  of  your  friendship,  and  value  your 
sound  sense;  but  I  will  depart  not  out  of 


93 

Derbyshire  until  Dorothy  Vernon's  prediction 
is  fulfilled  and  we  have  met  again." 

Aleyne  tried  to  reason  his  friend  from  this 
determination,  but  Manners  was  firm;  even 
urging  his  friend  to  go  and  leave  him.  But 
Aleyne  said  that,  as  they  had  set  out  together, 
he  would  remain,  for  a  time  at  least,  in  the 
hope  that  his  friend's  "  moon  madness,"  as  he 
termed  it,  would  pass  away. 

It  was  a  somewhat  curious  thing  that  on  the 
very  day  following  this  discussion  Jedaan  re- 
appeared with  a  message  from  Will  Dawson, 
whom  she  had  met  near  Haddon.  The  mes- 
sage was  to  the  effect  that  at  a  certain  hour 
two  days  from  then  Dawson  would  be  at  the 
hut  in  the  wood,  and  if  Manners  would  repair 
there  he  would  receive  news.  And  the  woman 
herself  brought  news.  It  was  that  Sir  Fal- 
coner Bracebridge  was  back  at  Haddon  Hall, 
and  that  it  was  rumored  among  the  servants 
that  he  and  Dorothy  were  to  be  married  early 
in  the  new  year. 

The  fact  that  a  portion  of  Jedaan's  prophecy 
had  already  been  verified  had  seriously  im- 
pressed Manners  with  a  belief  in  the  weird 
woman's  power  of  piercing  the  future,  and  now 
he  pressed  her  again  to  tell  him  more.  j 

"  Is  it  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate  that  I 


94 

should  tempt  my  fortune  by  remaining  here?  " 
Manners  asked  Jedaan,  after  the  first  shock  of 
her  news  had  passed. 

"  It  is  so  written,"  she  answered. 

"  And  my  heart's  desires  will  find  fulfill- 
ment?" 

"  No  man  reaches  the  heights  at  which  he 
gazes,"  she  said,  ambiguously,  "  but  be  bold, 
brave,  determined,  and  mayhap  thou  wilt  fall 
not  far  short." 

With  this  answer  he  had  to  be  content,  for 
not  another  word  would  she  vouchsafe  in  re- 
sponse to  his  eager  questioning. 

On  the  day  appointed  for  his  meeting  Daw- 
son  at  the  woodman's  hut,  John  Manners  went 
off  full  of  a  burning  eagerness  to  know  what 
the  object  of  the  meeting  was. 

"  Ah ! "  sighed  Manners,  as  he  hastened 
along,  "  should  it  chance  that  Dorothy  is  at 
the  rendezvous  what  joy  will  be  mine!" 

He  reached  the  hut,  and,  save  for  the  wood- 
land voices,  there  was  silence  and  solitude. 
Seating  himself  on  a  fallen  tree,  he  listened 
and  watched;  listened  for  the  sound  of  a  sil- 
very voice,  watched  for  the  figure  of  his 
dreams. 

But  Dorothy  came  not,  though  the  burly 


95 

woodman,  Dawson,  did.  As  he  made  his 
obeisance  to  Manners,  he  said: 

"  Nurse  Madge  bids  me  convey  to  you  the 
news  that  Lady  Matilda  has  set  a  close  watch 
on  Mistress  Dorothy  of  late,  and,  while 
Mistress  Dorothy  desires  to  see  you  once  more 
regarding  matters  about  which  you  gave  her 
information,  she  is  afraid  that  a  meeting  is 
now  impossible.  Since  she  considers  that  there 
is  danger  to  yourself  should  you  remain  in  the 
neighborhood,  she  begs  that  you  will  depart, 
and  she  will  remember  you  in  her  prayers." 

John  Manners'  heart  turned  cold,  and  he 
was  sick  with  a  sense  of  bitter  disappointment. 

"  To  see  her  no  more."  The  thought  was 
maddening. 

His  life  in  danger !  Pooh !  What  value  set 
he  upon  his  life?  If  she  would  but  give  him 
an  approving  smile,  whisper  a  word  of  love 
in  his  ear,  he  would  pit  himself  against  a  host 
of  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridges,  and  fiery 
dragons  to  boot — ay,  and  slay  them  all ! 

"  Friend  Dawson,"  he  said,  with  a  familiar- 
ity that  pleased  the  woodman,  "  go  to  Nurse 
Madge,  and  tell  her  to  say  to  her  mistress  that 
my  life  I  value  not  at  a  pin's  point,  and  here 
I  will  remain  until  I  see  her." 

"  A  bold  resolution,  sir,  but  you  run  much 


96 

risk.  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge,  who  remains 
at  the  Hall,  rides  and  hunts  in  the  woods  daily, 
and  he  is  a  fiery-tempered  gentleman." 

"  I  care  not.  But,  tell  me,  Dawson,  is  it  true 
that  Bracebridge  is  to  be  openly  betrothed  to 
Mistress  Dorothy?  " 

"  So  says  the  rumor,  sir.  But  I  give  you  this 
only  as  servants'  gossip." 

"  I  understand.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  go 
boldly  to  the  Hall  and  warn  Sir  George  Ver- 
non  against  his  future  son-in-law,  for  I  have 
an  implacable  hatred  of  this  same  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge." 

"  I  detest  him  myself,  sir,  but  if  you  did 
what  you  say  it  would  be  a  serious  matter,  and 
would,  I  am  sure,  cause  much  sorrow  to  the 
dear  young  mistress." 

"  You  are  right,  Dawson,"  exclaimed  John, 
in  dire  distress,  "  and  yet  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  that  Mistress  Dorothy  should  be~  wed 
to  so  loose  a  man  as  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge. 
Oh,  if  I  could  but  see  Dorothy  once  more,  for 
I  am  sure  she  does  not  love  him." 

"  I  have  heard  old  Madge  say  the  same,  sir. 
And,  more,  I  have  heard  that  Mistress  Dorothy 
thinks  you  a  most  proper  gentleman." 

Carried  away  by  his  feelings,  John  Manners 


97 

seized  the  hand  of  Dawson  and  shook  it,  much 
to  the  man's  amazement. 

"  Tell  me,  Dawson,"  he  cried,  "  are  there  no 
means  by  which  I  can  see  Mistress  Dorothy?  " 

Dawson  ran  his  fingers  through  his  tangled 
locks,  and  scratched  his  head  in  a  puzzled  way. 
But  suddenly  a  broad  smile  beamed  on  his 
weather-beaten  countenance,  and  he  said: 

"  I  have  a  plan,  Master  Manners,  but  first 
I  must  put  it  before  old  Madge,  and  to- 
morrow at  this  time  I  will  meet  you  here  and 
you  shall  know  it." 

"  But  why  not  now?  " 

Dawson  explained  that  he  did  not  like  to 
take  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  putting 
his  plan  into  execution  until  he  had  discussed 
the  subject  with  the  old  nurse,  so  there  was 
nothing  for  Manners  to  do  but  possess  his  soul 
in  patience  until  the  morrow. 

John  Manners  was  far  too  straightforward 
and  honest  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  his  good 
friend  Aleyne,  and  so  he  told  him  all  that 
Dawson  had  said.  Needless  to  say,  Aleyne 
gave  utterance  to  his  thoughts  with  a  vigor  of 
expression  altogether  unusual  with  him.  This 
"  wild,  romantic  infatuation,"  as  he  was  pleased 
to  term  it,  was  unworthy  of  a  man  of  mature 
years.  The  situation,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  was 


an  impossible  one,  for  what  hope  was  there, 
firstly,  of  disposing  of  Sir  Falconer  Brace- 
bridge;  secondly,  of  winning  the  favor  of  Sir 
George  and  Lady  Vernon;  and,  thirdly,  of 
gaining  Dorothy's  consent  to  be  wooed  by  a 
gentleman  who,  although  the  son  of  an  Earl, 
had  little  to  look  forward  to? 

William  Aleyne  was  beyond  all  doubt  a 
patient  man,  and  as  true  and  stanch  a  friend 
as  ever  breathed,  but  the  limit  of  his  patience 
was  now  reached. 

"  John,"  he  said,  sorrowfully,  "  up  to  this 
point  I  have  clung  to  you,  and  my  services, 
my  sword,  my  life  have  been  at  your  disposal. 
But  now  my  dignity  and  pride  are  at  stake, 
and,  besides,  we  as  gentlemen  have  no  right 
to  force  ourselves  into  the  affairs  of  a  family 
in  whom  we  have  no  concern,  and  who  take 
no  interest  in  us.  Now,  once  more  I  ask,  will 
you  go  with  me?  " 

"  No,  Aleyne,  I  cannot  go  hence  until  I  have 
once  more  seen  Mistress  Dorothy.  It  seems 
to  me  it  is  my  fate." 

"  So  be  it.  Farewell.  I  part  from  you  not 
in  anger,  but  in  sorrow." 

Half  an  hour  later  Aleyne  and  his  servant 
were  riding  toward  Derby,  and  no  sooner  was 
he  out  of  sight  than  Manners  felt  that  he  had 


99 

acted  foolishly,  and  he  actually  instructed  his 
man  to  ride  after  Aleyne  and  ask  him  to  re- 
turn. But  before  the  man  could  get  into  the 
saddle  the  order  was  countermanded,  and  Man- 
ners resolved  to  face  alone  the  issue  of  the  step 
he  had  taken. 

The  hours  went  by  leaden-footed,  and  when 
night  closed  in  a  chilling  sense  of  loneliness 
came  upon  him,  so  that  he  would  have  given 
much  for  the  companionship  of  his  true  and 
trusted  friend,  Aleyne.  Irritable  even  with 
himself,  he  wandered  along  the  deserted  road, 
until,  weary  and  fagged,  he  returned  to  the 
inn,  and  entered  the  common  room,  where 
some  of  the  villagers  were  assembled.  He  had 
been  there  for  over  an  hour  taking  part  in 
their  merry-making,  when  the  door  opened  and 
a  stranger  entered.  He  was  a  big,  burly  man, 
of  a  somewhat  ruffianly  cast  of  countenance. 
Glancing  round  at  the  assembled  company,  he 
said: 

"  Is  Master  Manners  here?  " 

"  I  am  he,"  answered  Manners. 

"  Follow  me,  please ;  for  I  am  the  bearer  of 
a  message  intended  for  your  own  ear  alone." 

Manners'  face  flushed.  "  A  message  from 
Madge  or  Will  Dawson,"  he  thought,  and,  as 
the  stranger  led  the  way,  he  followed.  They 


100 


passed  out  of  the  house  into  the  roadway.  The 
night  was  dark,  though  the  stars  were  shining. 

"  What  is  your  message?  "  Manners  asked, 
burning  with  a  desire  to  hear  what  the  man 
had  to  say. 

"  Come  a  little  farther  from  the  house,  for 
what  I  have  to  say  is  private." 

Not  suspecting  treachery,  Manners  walked 
along  the  road,  the  man  being  in  advance. 
Suddenly,  as  they  reached  the  deep  shadow  of 
overhanging  trees,  the  stranger  whistled,  and 
instantly  Manners  felt  himself  gripped  as  if 
in  a  vise.  Before  he  could  make  the  slightest 
resistance,  his  head  was  enveloped  in  a  sack  or 
cloak;  then  he  was  lifted  by  powerful  hands 
and  placed  across  a  horse  in  front  of  a  man 
already  in  the  saddle,  and  the  horse  was  at 
once  urged  into  a  gallop.  The  whole  business 
had  been  so  swiftly  and  suddenly  carried  out 
that  the  infamous  plot  had  succeeded  only  too 
well. 


101 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN    THE    SHADOW    OF    DEATH. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  John  Manners'  feelings 
when  he  realized  that  he  was  being  carried  off 
as  a  captive.  His  arms  were  imprisoned  by  a 
sack  or  cloak,  which  had  been  hastily  but  se- 
curely fastened  about  his  waist  with  a  cord. 
It  was,  therefore,  painfully  evident  that  he  was 
the  victim  of  a  well-matured  and  deep-laid 
scheme,  which  had  been  only  too  successful. 

From  the  muffled  sounds  that  came  to  him, 
he  knew  there  were  several  horsemen,  and, 
recognizing  his  utter  helplessness,  he  resigned 
himself  with  such  patience  as  he  could  com- 
mand to  the  situation.  Needless  to  say,  his 
pulses  were  quickened  by  an  all-pervading  feel- 
ing of  indignation  at  the  outrage,  for  which  he 
mentally  vowed  there  should  be  a  bitter  reck- 
oning. 

For  an  hour  the  jolting  and  jarring  never 
ceased,  and  he  felt  as  if  his  back  would  break 
in  two.  At  last  the  horses  rattled  over  cobble 


IO2 

stones,  and  then  halted.  He  felt  himself 
lifted  down,  carried  some  distance,  along  a 
passage  as  it  seemed,  and  finally  he  was 
dumped  unceremoniously  onto  a  bench'. 
Next,  the  sack  was  removed,  and  the  sense  of 
suffocation  yielded  as  he  was  able  to  breathe 
the  air  freely.  He  was  bathed  in  perspiration, 
while  every  limb  in  his  body  ached. 

He  noticed  with  the  quickness  that  a  man 
in  such  a  situation  would  be  apt  to  note  that 
he  was  in  a  low-ceilinged  apartment,  the  floor 
of  which  was  the  natural  earth,  while  there  was 
one  tiny  window  at  one  end.  He  had  been 
placed  on  a  stool,  and  a  small  table  stood  at 
one  corner,  while  in  another  corner  was  a 
bundle  of  new  straw.  Two  men  stood  over 
him.  One  held  aloft  a  horn  lantern ;  the  other 
had  the  sack  in  his  hand.  This  fellow  was  of 
gigantic  build.  He  was  like  a  bull,  and  must 
have  had  a  bull's  strength.  His  coarse  features 
were  deeply  pitted  with  small-pox  marks,  and 
his  great  round  head  was  thatched  with  a 
matted  tangle  of  reddish  hair.  As  Manners 
recovered  himself  he  started  up,  exclaiming: 

"  Who  is  responsible  for  this  outrage? 
Where  am  I  ?  ' 

"  That  you  will  know  by-and-by,"  answered 
the  big  man  gruffly. 


103 

"  I  demand  to  know  now."  And  instinctive- 
ly Manners'  right  hand  went  to  his  sword  hip ; 
but  he  carried  no  sword,  and  had  no  weapon  of 
any  kind. 

The  big  man  grinned,  displaying  a  set  of  un- 
even yellow  teeth. 

"  A  demand  from  a  prisoner  isn't  of  much 
worth,"  he  said  in  deep,  guttural  tones. 

"  A  prisoner?  " 

"  Ay,  a  prisoner." 

"What  place  is  this?" 

"  I  am  forbidden  to  answer  questions ;  there- 
fore ask  none.  It  will  save  trouble." 

"  By  whose  orders  have  I  been  made  pris- 
oner? " 

"  Again  I  tell  you  I  cannot  answer," 
snapped  the  man.  "  And,  hark  ye,  sir,  make 
yourself  content.  Yonder  is  a  bundle  of  straw 
for  your  bed ;  many  a  fine  gentleman  has  slept 
on  worse,  and,  should  you  be  civil,  a  jug  of 
strong  ale  and  a  loaf  shall  be  furnished  for 
your  supper." 

Without  another  word  the  two  men  retired, 
the  one  who  bore  the  lantern  leaving  it  on  the 
table.  The  sounds  the  door  made  in  closing 
indicated  that  it  was  massive  and  heavy,  and 
the  grating  of  the  key  in  the  lock  left  the  pris- 
oner no  room  to  doubt  that  he  was  very  effi- 


104 

ciently  secured.  Somewhat  dazed  and  ex- 
hausted, Manners  sat  with  his  chin  resting  on 
his  hands.  It  was  almost  difficult  for  him  to 
realize  that  he  was  not  the  victim  of  a  bad 
dream.  The  whole  affair  had  been  so  rapidly 
and  skillfully  carried  out  that  he  had  scarcely 
had  time  for  thought. 

Presently  he  rose,  took  up  the  lantern,  and 
made  an  examination  of  his  prison.  Its  dimen- 
sions were  about  eighteen  feet  long  by  four- 
teen wide.  The  ceiling  was  rough,  vaulted 
brickwork.  The  walls  were  damp.  It  was, 
therefore,  probably  a  cellar.  He  went  to  the 
door  and  listened.  Not  a  sound  came  to  him. 
It  might  have  been  a  tomb.  He  pressed  his 
shoulders  to  the  door,  merely  as  a  test.  It  was 
evidently  set  in  a  massive  framework  of  wood, 
and  was  as  solid  as  a  wall.  As  regards  the  win- 
dow, a  medium-sized  cat  could  hardly  have 
crept  through.  Escape,  therefore,  was  impos- 
sible. 

Indignant  as  he  was,  John  Manners  had  too 
much  common  sense  to  try  to  accomplish  the 
impossible.  He  could  not  beat  the  massive 
door  down;  he  could  not  pass  through  stone 
walls,  therefore  he  accepted  the  inevitable.  To 
fret  and  chafe  and  fume  would  not  aid  him 


105 

an  atom.      Enemies   had    encompassed   him. 
Who  were  they? 

For  a  moment  he  thought  it  possible  that 
William  Aleyne  had  had  a  hand  in  the  busi- 
ness. But  he  put  the  thought  from  him,  and 
was  angry  with  himself  for  having  entertained 
it  even  for  a  moment.  William  Aleyne  was  a 
man  of  noble  mind,  and  would  not  lend  himself 
to  any  act  of  treachery.  Since  it  was  evident, 
however,  that  there  was  a  prime  mover  in  the 
business,  what  more  likely  than  that  Will  Daw- 
son  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all?  He  had  be- 
trayed Manners  to  Sir  Falconer,  who  had  taken 
this  dastardly  course  to  free  himself  of  a  dan- 
gerous rival. 

This  view  of  the  case  made  the  prisoner  furi- 
ous for  the  moment,  so  that  he  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  paced  up  and  down,  stirred  to  his  very 
depths  by  a  passion  of  anger,  which  had  only 
partially  subsided  when  the  door  was  opened, 
and  the  big  man  appeared,  carrying  a  jug  of 
ale,  a  loaf,  and  some  cheese. 

"  Stay,  fellow,"  cried  the  prisoner.  "  Tell 
me  by  whose  orders  this  outrage  has  been  com- 
mited  upon  me,  and  I  will  give  you  fifty 
crowns." 

The  big  man  did  not  deign  to  make  a  reply. 
He  placed  the  things  on  the  table,  and  moved 


io6 

toward  the  door,  where  a  second  man  stood  on 
guard.  Manners  contemplated  a  dash  for  free- 
dom, but  the  hopelessness  of  such  an  attempt 
was  only  too  apparent,  so  he  resigned  himself, 
and,  being  once  more  alone,  he  very  sensibly 
took  a  long  drink  of  the  beer,  which  he  found 
grateful  and  cooling  to  his  parched  throat. 
Then,  as  hunger  asserted  itself,  he  discussed 
the  cheese  and  loaf,  and  by  the  time  he  had 
finished  his  frugal  repast  he  was  in  a  calmer 
frame  of  mind. 

It  seemed  pretty  clear  at  that  stage  that  it 
was  not  his  life  that  was  aimed  at,  otherwise  it 
would  not  have  been  difficult  to  hire  an  assas- 
sin to  make  short  work  of  the  job.  Such  a 
mode  of  getting  rid  of  an  enemy  was  common 
enough  at  this  period,  and  detection  most  diffi- 
cult. But  he  had  been  deprived  of  liberty  in  an 
unceremonious  and  illegal  way,  which  pointed 
to  a  secret  enemy,  and  obviously  one  of  power 
and  influence.  And  there  was  no  one  the  pris- 
oner could  think  of  in  the  least  likely  to  resort 
to  such  desperate  means,  save  Bracebridge. 
It  was  a  very  disturbing  thought.  To  be  out- 
witted and  beaten  is  never  conducive  to  calm- 
ness of  spirit,  so  his  situation  taxed  Manners 
to  such  a  degree  that  it  was  long  before  he  at- 
tempted to  find  temporary  oblivion  in  sleep. 


ID; 

But  at  last  he  shook  the  bundle  of  straw  out, 
and,  lying  down,  slept  soundly  for  many  hours. 

When  he  awoke  a  long  slanting  beam  of 
light  penetrated  through  a  crack  in  the  wooden 
shutter,  and  illuminated  a  narrow  strip  of  the 
dripping  wall  opposite.  Manners  sat  upright, 
rubbed  his  eyes,  and  stared  at  the  glittering 
wet  patch,  and  it  at  once  recalled  him  to  a 
sense  of  his  surroundings. 

He  rose,  moved  the  stool  beneath  the  win- 
dow, and  standing  on  it  opened  the  shutter. 
The  small  window  was  set  in  a  deep  recess  in 
the  wall,  and  the  light  being  focused  by  the 
aperture,  fell  fan-like,  illuminating  the  oppo- 
site space  widely,  but  leaving  the  rest  in  semi- 
shadow.  Nevertheless,  there  was  light  enough 
everywhere  to  bring  into  bold  prominence  the 
squalor  of  the  apartment,  with  its  moisture- 
laden  walls,  its  earth  floor,  and  its  undulated 
brick  roof,  whitened  here  and  there  with  a  fun- 
goid growth.  Manners  shuddered  involunta- 
rily as  he  noted  the  aspects  of  his  prison  house. 

He  was  about  to  drag  the  table  under  the 
little  window  in  order  that  he  might  mount 
and  survey  so  much  of  the  outer  world  as  the 
aperture  would  enable  him  to  do,  when  his  at- 
tention was  arrested  by  his  morning  meal, 
which  had  evidently  been  brought  while  he 


io8 

slept.  It  was  frugal  enough — a  mug  of  ale,  a 
small  coarse  loaf,  and  a  lump  of  the  hard,  red 
cheese  peculiar  to  the  district. 

But  there  was  something  else  on  the  table 
that,  hungry  as  he  was,  had  more  attraction 
for  him  than  the  food.  It  was  an  oblong  let- 
ter, bearing  his  name,  and  tied  round  with  a 
strip  of  ribbon.  With  a  thrill  of  nervous  emo- 
tion he  cut  the  ribbon,  unfolded  the  paper,  and 
read  as  follows: 

"  The  liberty  of  which  you  have  been  de- 
prived will  be  restored  to  you  on  one  condition, 
and  one  condition  only;  it  is  that  you  give  a 
solemn  undertaking  in  writing  on  your  oath 
as  a  gentleman  that  you  will  at  once  quit  Der- 
byshire, and  return  not  within  a  year  at  least. 
Your  refusal  to  do  this  will  be  your  death  war- 
rant. You  are  safely  bestowed.  Escape  is  im- 
possible. Your  place  of  imprisonment  is 
known  only  to  your  captors,  and  they  are 
pledged  to  secrecy.  Therefore  beware  how  you 
answer.  A  refusal  to  comply  with  this  demand 
will  be  fatal  to  you ;  you  will  be  left  to  rot,  and 
an  unknown  grave  will  be  your  portion.  Treat 
not  this  threat  lightly,  for  it  will  be  put  into 
execution  within  a  few  hours  of  refusal  to  ac- 
cept freedom  on  the  terms  offered.  Your 
jailer  will  come  for  your  reply  at  ten  of 


log 

the  clock.  Agree  to  the  terms,  and  your  prison 
door  will  at  once  be  open ;  refuse  and  you  will 
never  see  another  sun  rise.  Remember  you 
have  to  choose  between  life  and  death,  so  pon- 
der well." 

Manners  burned  with  indignation  as  he  pe-- 
rused  this  threatening  and  mysterious  letter, 
but  he  had  little  doubt  in  his  own  mind  that 
his  enemy  was  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge,  who 
had  found  a  ready  tool  in  Will  Dawson.  In- 
dignation gave  place  to  a  passionate  outburst, 
but  his  helplessness  made  itself  only  too  ap- 
parent. He  recognized  the  futility  of  trying 
to  burst  his  prison  walls.  From  what  he  knew 
of  Sir  Falconer  he  felt  perfectly  sure  he  would 
not  hesitate  to  carry  out  his  dastardly  threat. 

Nevertheless  the  prisoner  was  too  coura- 
geous, too  proud,  to  accept  his  liberty  and  life 
from  the  hands  of  a  man  whom  he  so  utterly 
despised.  And  since  Bracebridge  had  resorted 
to  cowardly  and  treacherous  means  to  entrap 
him,  Manners  felt  that  he  need  not  hesitate 
to  free  himself  by  the  power  of  his  purse  if 
that  were  possible.  Presently  a  key  grated  in 
the  lock,  the  door  opened,  and  the  big  jailer 
presented  himself. 

"  Good-day,  Master  Manners,"  he  said 
gruffly.  "  I  await  your  answer  to  the  letter." 


110 

"  Who  is  your  employer,  fellow?  "  the  pris- 
oner demanded. 

"  I  am  not  here  to  answer  questions." 

"  Last  night  I  offered  you  fifty  crowns  for 
the  information ;  now  I  will  give  you  a  hundred 
if  you  will  give  me  the  name  of  your  employer, 
and  set  me  free." 

"  It  is  more  than  my  life  is  worth.  I  await 
your  answer  to  the  letter." 

"  I  will  make  it  two  hundred  crowns.  Will 
that  not  tempt  you?  " 

"  No.    Your  answer,  quick." 

The  blood  rushed  into  Manners'  face.  He 
looked  hard  at  the  bull-like  man,  but  was 
forced  to  recognize  the  hopelessness  of  trying 
conclusions  with  him.  The  man  was  a  Her- 
cules. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  he  asked  haughtily. 

"  You  can  call  me  Hal." 

"  Then  listen,  Hal.  Go  to  your  master  and 
tell  him  I  scorn  and  defy  him,  and  black- 
hearted fiend  as  he  is,  I  will  meet  him  when 
and  where  he  pleases,  and  fight  him  to  the 
death." 

Hal  laughed. 

"  Your  are  a  prisoner,"  he  said.  "  But  you 
can  have  liberty  on  one  condition." 

"  And  that  condition  I  decline  to  accept." 


Ill 

"  Then  you're  doomed.  Farewell."  With- 
out another  word  the  burly  Hal  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left  the  unhappy  prisoner  to  his  own 
reflections,  which,  needless  to  say,  were  of  a 
most  depressing  nature. 


112 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   PROSPECT   DARKENS. 

The  day  wore  itself  out  somehow,  but  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  varied  and  somewhat  ad- 
venturous life,  John  Manners  had  never  suf- 
fered such  mental  agony  as  he  did  during  those 
leaden  hours.  The  stillness  of  death  reigned. 
The  chirp  of  a  bird  or  the  squeak  of  a  rat 
would  have  been  a  mighty  relief  in  his  awful 
solitude.  He  was  not  quite  the  man  to  aban- 
don himself  to  despair,  hopeless  though  his 
position  seemed;  but  the  hideous  uncertainty, 
and  his  ignorance  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
living,  breathing,  palpitating  world,  which 
must  have  been  so  near,  and  yet  he  could  not 
hear  it,  produced  a  sense  of  mental  torture  that 
was  all  but  unbearable. 

The  sun  swung  to  the  west,  and  he  watched 
the  shadows  creep  along  the  glistening  wall, 
as  on  a  sun  dial,  and  he  gathered  some  vague 
idea  of  the  time  of  day  thereby.  He  had  con- 
sumed the  morning  food  that  he  had  found 


H3 

upon  the  caole,  and  as  the  day  faded  a  con- 
sciousness of  an  internal  gnawing  caused  him 
occasionally  to  glance  anxiously  toward  the 
door.  But  no  grate  of  key  or  creak  of  hinge 
relieved  the  tension  of  his  nerves.  Then  the 
words  of  the  letter  flashed  through  his  mind. 

"  You  will  be  left  to  rot,  and  an  unknown 
grave  will  be  your  portion." 

"  The  wretches  intend  that  I  shall  slowly 
starve  to  death,  or,  at  any  rate,  they  think  to 
break  my  spirits  with  hunger,"  he  muttered. 
"  Starve  me  they  may,  but  they  will  find  I  can 
die  like  a  man."  The  horror  of  the  prospect  of 
slow  starvation,  shut  off  from  all  who  knew 
and  loved  him,  so  weighed  upon  his  mind  that 
he  flung  himself  upon  his  heap  of  straw,  and 
ground  his  teeth  in  a  sort  of  spasm  of  delirium. 
But  the  spasm  passed,  and  there  came  to  him 
a  remembrance  of  Jedaan,  the  strange  weird 
woman  who  had  foretold  his  future.  If  there 
was  the  slightest  reliance  to  be  placed  on  what 
she  had  said,  then  he  was  not  doomed  to  perish 
in  that  miserable  dungeon,  and  he  would 
triumph  over  his  enemies  in  the  end.  But  was 
she  to  be  relied  upon?  " 

On  the  answer  to  that  question  his  fate 
seemed  to  hang.  Between  doubt  and  belief  he 
fluctuated  for  some  time;  until  he  recalled,  as 


114 

nearly  as  possible,  all  that  she  had  said,  and  all 
that  had  happened ;  while  from  the  happenings 
he  drew  consolation.  And  by  contrast  with  the 
mental  tumult,  through  which  he  had  passed, 
a  comforting  calm  ensued;  hope  rose  high 
again. 

Now  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  John 
Manners  lived  in  an  age  when  a  belief  in 
witchcraft,  wise  women,  wizards,  prophecy,  and 
the  like  was  universal,  and  it  was,  therefore, 
not  a  surprising  thing  that  even  he,  with  all 
his  learning  and  knowledge  of  the  world, 
should  be  superstitious  enough  to  pin  his  faith 
to  Jedaan's  utterances.  That  faith  insured  him 
hours  of  sound  sleep,  despite  his  hunger,  and 
when  he  awoke  and  beheld  his  prison  illumined 
with  the  light  of  a  new  day,  he  felt  relatively 
cheerful;  and  his  spirits  rose  still  more  as  he 
beheld  a  fresh  supply  of  food. 

The  state  of  his  appetite  was  such  that  he  at- 
tacked the  food,  coarse  as  it  was,  with  ravening 
haste,  and  never  before  had  a  draught  of  ale 
seemed  so  delicious.  So  intent  had  he  been 
in  satisfying  nature's  craving  that  it  was  not 
until  he  began  to  experience  a  delightful  sense 
of  repletion  that  he  noticed  another  letter  on 
the  table.  He  tore  it  open,  and  read  this: 

"  A  last  chance  is  given  you,  and  you  will  be 


"5 

allowed  one  more  day  to  decide  whether  you 
will  accept  freedom  on  the  conditions  named, 
or  die  like  a  rat  in  a  trap  where  you  are? 
Your  only  hope  in  this  world  is  to  accept  the 
conditions." 

Again  a  sense  of  burning  anger  stirred  his 
pulses,  and  he  crushed  the  paper  in  his  hands, 
but  the  anger  passed  quickly. 

"  My  enemy  will  be  foiled,"  he  thought, 
"  my  role  is  not  yet  completed ;  my  destiny  not 
yet  fulfilled." 

He  straightened  the  letter  out  again,  and 
stowed  it  in  the  inner  pocket  of  his  doublet, 
and  then  in  order  to  occupy  his  mind,  and  to 
pass  the  time,  he  commenced  to  carve  rude 
characters  on  the  table  with  the  knife  that 
had  been  brought  with  the  bread.  While  he 
was  thus  occupied  the  door  was  suddenly 
opened,  and  the  huge  bulk  of  Hal  appeared. 

"  How  goes  it  with  you,  Master  Manners?  " 
asked  the  man. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  prisoner,  "  a  book  or 
an  inkhorn  and  some  paper  would  very  much 
relieve  the  tedium  of  my  enforced  stay  here. 
Surely  these  things  I  may  purchase,  though  a 
hundred  crowns  will  not  purchase  my  free- 
dom." 


"  The  terms  of  freedom  are  easy,"  said  Hal 
with  a  leer. 

"  What  are  they?  " 

"  To  do  as  you  have  been  requested  to  do  in 
the  letters." 

Manners  ground  his  teeth  with  rage.  Be- 
ing unable  as  yet  to  fully  realize  how  thor- 
oughly he  was  in  the  power  of  his  enemy,  he 
was  defiant  and  proud. 

"  Back  to  your  dog  of  a  master,"  he  said, 
with  a  fiery  vehemence,  "  and  tell  him  that  I 
scorn  and  spurn  him,  and  absolutely  refuse  to 
accept  my  liberty  on  any  such  terms  as  those 
he  proposes.  And  tell  him  further  that 
though  I  am  in  his  power  now,  it  will  be  but 
for  a  short  time,  and  then  he  shall  learn  that 
a  Manners  knows  how  to  avenge  a  deadly  in- 
sult." 

Hal  laughed  unpleasantly  as  he  answered: 

"  These  are  bold  words,  master,  for  one  who 
is  caged  as  securely  as  thou  art." 

"  But  your  cowardly  employer  will  never 
dare  to  carry  out  his  threat." 

Hal  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  False  hopes  of  thine,  master,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  here,  and  here  you  will  remain  until 
you  are  dead,  when  your  body  will  be  thrust 
in  a  sack  and  buried  in  a  hole  where  none  can 


117 

discover  it,  unless  you  are  willing  to  depart  on 
the  conditions  named." 

The  prisoner  had  hard  work  to  control  him- 
self in  face  of  this  menace;  he  looked  angrily 
on  the  bulky  form  of  Hal,  and  was  once  more 
almost  tempted  to  hurl  himself  against  him, 
and  pit  his  own  strength  against  his.  Possibly 
he  would  have  yielded  to  this  tempting  had 
he  not  realized  by  certain  sounds  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door  that  Hal  was  not  alone.  And, 
after  all,  Hal  must  surely  have  his  price.  It 
was  true  he  had  refused  two  hundred  crowns, 
a  very  large  sum  surely  to  one  in  his  position, 
but  an  increase  might  be  more  effective. 

It  is  easy  to  threaten  a  defenseless  man," 
he  answered,  "  and  it  is  cowardly  to  insult  a 
fallen  foe,  but  no  matter.  Now  listen,  Hal. 
In  your  custody  it  appears  I  have  been  placed. 
Last  night  I  offered  you  two  hundred  crowns 
for  my  liberty.  Now  you  shall  name  your 
own  price.  Say,  shall  it  be  two  hundred  and 
fifty?  Three  hundred?  Three  hundred  and 
fifty?  Speak!" 

"  Spare  thy  breath,  Master  Manners,"  Hal 
replied.  "  You  have  not  wealth  enough  to 
tempt  me." 

Manners  was  amazed,  and  said : 

"  Tell  me,  if  for  nothing  else  than  the  satis- 


faction  of  my  curiosity,  how  comes  it  that  you 
are  proof  against  such  a  sum  as  that  I  offer? 
Unless  appearances  deceive  me,  you  are 
poor? " 

"  Ay,"  said  Hal,  "  I  am  not  weighted  with 
worldly  wealth." 

"  Why  then  refuse  three  hundred  and  fifty 
crowns?  " 

"  Because  I  am  stanch  to  him  I  serve." 

"  A  noble  virtue,  truly.  I  wish  I  had  a  serv- 
itor so  faithful.  But  surely  there  is  more 
than  an  ordinary  reason  for  such  fidelity." 

"  That  is  so,  master." 

"Tell  me  what  it  is?" 

"  It  is  enough  for  you  to  know  I  am  stanch. 
The  reason  is  my  own  business,"  Hal  replied 
saucily. 

Manners  recognized  the  uselessness  of  argu- 
ment with  the  fellow;  nor  was  he  disposed  to 
try  the  effect  of  a  much  larger  sum  than  any 
he  had  yet  named.  At  any  rate,  not  at  that 
stage. 

"  Truly,"  he  answered  loftily,  "  your  busi- 
ness is  your  own,  and  since  you  are  content  to 
be  a  fawning  creature  in  the  service  of  a  knave, 
so  be  it." 

Hal's  brow  darkened,  and  he  looked  threat- 
eningly at  his  prisoner,  as  he  said : 


119 

"  Be  careful,  Master  Manners,  and  speak 
with  more  civil  tongue,  for  I'll  trounce  you  if 
you  speak  ill  of  him  I  serve." 

Manners'  blood  boiled.  To  be  thus  bearded 
and  threatened  by  a  hireling  was  almost  more 
than  his  nature  could  stand.  But,  fortunately 
for  himself,  he  recognized  that  violence  would 
certainly  fail  where  strategy  might  succeed. 

"  Go,"  he  said,  as  calmly  as  he  could.  "  To- 
day you  can  insult  me  with  impunity.  But  to- 
morrow   well,  who  knows  what  to-mor- 
row will  bring  forth." 

"  You  will  have  but  few  to-morrows,  sir, 
unless  you  show  more  reasonableness." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Manners  between  his 
teeth. 

"  We  shall,"  answered  the  other  derisively. 
"  And  if  you  are  fool  enough  not  to  under- 
stand the  position,  so  much  the  worse  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  it  well  enough." 

"  And  your  answer  is " 

"  That  I  defy  him,  though  he  be  the  fiend 
himself." 

"  Then  your  doom  is  sealed.     Farewell." 

Manners  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  lock.  He 
was  alone,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  was  he 
victim  to  a  feeling  of  blank  despair,  nor  was  it 


I2O 

really  to  be  wondered  at,  for  his  helplessness 
at  that  moment  was  so  very  apparent.  His 
captors  had  evidently  laid  their  plans  so  well 
that  his  friends  would  never  know  what  had 
become  of  him.  His  feelings  were  still  further 
harrowed  by  the  reflection  that  Dorothy  Ver- 
non,  who  had  seemed  so  well  disposd  toward 
him,  would  probably  think  he  had  departed 
out  of  Derbyshire  of  his  own  accord,  and  un- 
able to  avoid  the  force  of  circumstances,  she 
might  find  herself  linked  in  matrimony  to  the 
hateful  Bracebridge. 

The  day  waned  with  terrible  slowness,  and 
the  want  of  some  means  of  occupying  himself 
made  his  position  very  hard  to  bear.  But  he 
summoned  all  his  fortitude  to  his  aid,  and,  as 
darkness  closed  in,  he  sought  his  bed  of  straw, 
and  soon  fell  asleep. 

His  sleep  was  not  altogether  unbroken,  and 
he  had  dreary  periods  of  wakefulness,  when 
thought  with  tumultuous  confusion  rushed 
through  his  brain.  And  then  out  of  the  ka- 
leidoscopic muddle  of  thought  a  sweet  vision 
was  evolved,  and  beautiful  Dorothy  Vernon 
smiled  upon  him,  and  with  a  graceful  wave 
of  her  hand  lulled  him  to  soothing  slumber 
again,  and  whispered  in  his  ear:  "Hope, 


121 

Hope,  Hope!  'Tis  the  dark  hour  before  the 
dawn." 

It  was  full  day  when  he  next  became  con- 
scious of  his  surroundings.  An  inward  sink- 
ing caused  him  to  glance  eagerly  at  the  table ; 
but  this  time  it  was  bare.  No  food  had  been 
brought  while  he  slept.  By  the  way  the  rays 
of  sunlight  fell  on  the  wall,  he  judged  that  the 
morning  was  well  advanced.  Rising,  he  went 
to  the  door,  and  applied  his  ear,  trying  to 
catch  some  sound.  But  there  was  a  grim  si- 
lence. It  was  like  the  silence  of  death.  He 
kicked  the  door,  and  his  cell  gave  back  an 
echo.  He  paused  and  listened.  The  death- 
like silence  was  unbroken  save  by  his  own 
labored  breathing. 

Prompted  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  seized 
the  stool  and  used  it  as  a  battering  ram;  but 
it  shivered  to  pieces  in  his  hand,  and  the  solid 
oak  door,  save  for  several  dints,  remained  un- 
injured. He  dragged  the  table  beneath  the 
little  window  and  climbed  up,  though  all  he 
could  discern  was  the  topmost  branches  of  a, 
tree  waving  in  the  wind.  Small  as  the  window 
was,  it  was  protected  on  the  outside  by  two 
iron  bars.  The  lonely  prisoner  descended ; 
once  again  a  sense  of  blank  desolation  came 
over  him;  he  felt  as  if  he  would  go  raving 


122 

mad.  The  horrible  suspense,  the  awful  uncer- 
tainty, were  torturing. 

And  now  added  to  his  mental  distress  was 
physical  suffering  caused  by  hunger  and  thirst. 
No  man  could  have  viewed  the  situation  as  it 
then  presented  itself  to  Manners'  distracted 
gaze  without  a  sickening  sense  of  despair. 
And  the  unhappy  prisoner  was  convinced  that 
he  had  nothing  to  hope  for  from  Bracebridge, 
who  was  not  likely  to  scruple  at  committing 
any  deed  to  save  himself  from  exposure  and 
defeat.  That  prophecy  of  Jedaan's,  however, 
was  the  counteracting  influence  that  enabled 
him  to  keep  his  mental  balance  despite  the 
tremendous  strain  to  which  he  was  subjected. 

How  he  got  through  that  day  and  the  night 
that  succeeded  he  scarcely  knew.  He  heard  no 
sound ;  he  saw  no  living  thing.  He  passed  the 
by  turns  from  mental  stress  to  a  strange  calm, 
the  result  of  an  iron  will,  and  a  belief,  inclined 
to  waver  at  times,  but  growing  strong  again, 
that  his  destiny  was  not  be  fulfilled  in  that 
prison-house,  and  that  Jedaan's  forecast  of  his 
future  would  be  literally  realized. 

The  new  day  found  him  weak  and  ill,  as  a 
result  of  his  enforced  abstinence  from  food  and 
drink.  Strangely  enough,  thirst  did  not 
trouble  him  to  any  extent;  but  he  was  almost 


123 

maddened  by  an  internal  gnawing.  As  the 
day  drew  to  its  close  he  felt  that  unless  some- 
thing like  a  miracle  happened  soon  his  brain 
would  either  give  way  or  he  would  expire  from 
sheer  exhaustion.  But  just  as  another  fit  of 
blank  despair  was  creeping  upon  him  the 
miracle  did  happen. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  he  had  thrown  him- 
self on  his  heap  of  straw  in  a  state  of  semi- 
unconsciousness,  when  suddenly  he  was 
startled  by  a  crash,  and  something  falling  on 
the  floor  of  his  cell. 


124 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    MIRACLE. 

The  unexpected  crash,  occurring  when 
Manners  thought  himself  absolutely  forgot- 
ten by  everybody  in  the  world,  roused  him, 
and  he  rose  up  and  listened,  but  there  was 
again  unbroken  silence.  He  sank  back  with 
a  groan. 

"  My  poor  brain  is  giving  way,"  he  mut- 
tered, and  for  a  little  while  he  lay  perfectly 
still.  Then  the  idea  gradually  took  possession 
of  him  that  he  was  not  the  sport  of  a  delusion, 
but  that  there  really  had  been  a  crash,  and 
something  had  really  fallen  with  a  thud  onto 
the  ground.  He  got  up  with  difficulty.  He 
tottered  a  little  from  weakness.  The  light  had 
nearly  all  gone,  but  he  groped  about  on  the 
floor,  and  at  last  his  hand  came  in  contact  with 
a  hard  substance.  He  seized  it.  It  was  a 
stone,  and  he  became  conscious  that  some- 
thing was  attached  to  it.  Instantly  it  dawned 
upon  him  that  the  stone  had  been  hurled 


125 

through  the  window;  that  this  was  so  he  was 
sure,  for  the  air  of  his  prison  was  fresher. 
With  difficulty  he  got  the  table  under  the 
window,  and  managed  by  an  effort  to  climb 
up. 

Yes;  the  glass  of  the  window  was  smashed. 

His  heart  beat  against  his  ribs.  His  breath 
came  in  gasps. 

He  held  the  stone  up  to  the  fast  fading  light. 
Attached  to  it  by  a  thong  of  leather  was  a 
small  bone  tablet  such  as  was  used  for  writing 
on.  He  strained  his  eyes.  He  saw  there  were 
some  characters  on  the  tablet.  They  were 
badly  formed,  but  he  managed  with  great  diffi- 
culty to  decipher  them  and  make  out  that  a 
message  had  been  conveyed  to  him — a  mes- 
sage of  hope.  This  was  the  message: 

"  You  will  be  set  free  to-night. — Jedaan." 

An  involuntary  cry  of  joy  escaped  from  his 
lips.  His  strength  seemed  to  come  back  to 
him  as  if  by  some  act  of  magic.  He  found  no 
difficulty  in  dismounting  from  the  table.  His 
faith  in  the  witch  woman  was  justified.  Just 
as  despair  was  overwhelming  him  and  all 
seemed  lost,  she  had  sent  him  this  message  of 
comfort.  But  he  knew  that  sudden  joy  was 
almost  as  dangerous  as  sudden  sorrow,  and 
so  he  tried  to  suppress  himself,  and,  lying 


126 

down  on  his  straw  once  more,  he  made  a 
mighty  effort  to  summon  patience  to  his  aid. 
Sleep  was  out  of  the  question,  for,  though 
he  tried  to  be  calm,  he  was  excited.  How 
long  he  remained  there  with  every  nerve  on 
the  rack,  with  wide  open  eyes  staring  into  the 
darkness,  and  ears  strained  to  a  painful  state 
of  acuteness  to  catch  the  slightest  sound,  he 
knew  not.  His  reward  came.  Somebody 
fumbled  at  the  lock.  The  key  was  inserted. 
It  grated;  it  turned;  the  door  swung  on  its 
hinges;  a  gleam  of  light  made  a  pathway 
through  the  darkness ;  a  voice  spoke.  "  John 
Manners,  are  you  there?"  it  asked.  In  that 
moment  it  almost  seemed  like  the  voice  of  an 
angel.  The  prisoner  muttered  a  reply.  Then 
a  curtain  seemed  to  be  dropped.  A  blank 
ensued. 

In  the  dreamy,  out-of-the-world  little  village 
of  Eyam,  a  few  miles  to  the  north  of  Bakewell, 
was  a  humble  cottage,  with  heavy  projecting 
eaves  of  thatch,  and  a  patch  of  garden  in  front 
in  which  grew  many  sweet-scented  flowers.  In 
this  cottage,  a  man,  pallid  and  haggard,  lay 
upon  a  low  truckle  bed,  seemingly  asleep,  and 
beside  him  sat  a  strange,  weird,  wild-looking 
woman.  At  the  door  of  the  cottage,  on  a 


127 

three-legged  stool,  busy  with  a  spinning  wheel, 
was  another  woman,  an  ancient  dame,  with  a 
kindly,  gnarled  face,  framed  in  a  mass  of  white 
hair. 

Presently  the  sick  man  drew  a  deep  breath, 
He  moved  his  arms,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and 
gazed  around  with  a  bewildered  look.  The 
weird  woman  stroked  his  head,  and  passed  her 
hand  soothingly  over  his  face,  saying  at  last: 

"  You  have  slept  well." 

"  Where  am  I?  "  he  asked,  still  bewildered. 

"  With  friends." 

"  And  you,  who  are  you?  " 

"Jedaan,  the  Arabian." 

"  Ah,  now  it  is  clear,"  exclaimed  John  Man- 
ners. "  I  was  entrapped,  I  was  carried  away, 
I  was  imprisoned,  I  was  released ! " 

"  True." 

"  Tell  me  the  story." 

"  It  is  better  you  should  rest  now.  Drink 
this  cordial;  it  will  give  you  strength." 

He  drained  the  drink,  and  soon  sleep  stole 
upon  him  again.  When  he  awoke  the  sun  was 
declining,  and  throwing  long,  slanting  shafts 
of  golden  fire  athwart  the  village,  while  the 
flowers  exhaling  their  choicest  fragrance  made 
the  still  air  heavy.  Refreshed  and  strength- 
ened Manners  sat  upright,  and  as  he  did  so  a 


128 

man  came  from  the  outer  doorway,  and,  seiz- 
ing his  hand,  wrung  it  warmly.  The  new- 
comer was  William  Aleyne.  His  friend  recog- 
nized him  at  once,  and,  returning  the  greeting 
with  no  less  warmth,  said : 

"  Surely  I  have  been  passing  through  some 
hideous  nightmare  dream,  and  have  come  out 
of  the  very  shadow  of  death.  Tell  me  the 
whole  story,  dear  friend,  for  my  brain  is  still 
confused.  I  can  scarcely  gather  up  the  scat- 
tered threads  of  events." 

"  First  you  must  have  some  food,"  said 
William  heartily.  "  Oh,  Dame,  Dame  Wort- 
ley,"  he  called.  In  obedience  to  the  summons 
the  old  woman  whom  we  have  seen  spinning 
at  the  cottage  door  came  in  with  a  wooden 
bowl  containing  some  hot  soup,  which  she 
gave  to  Manners.  When  he  had  finished  it 
another  draught  of  cordial  was  handed  to  him, 
and,  having  drunk  it,  he  felt  perfectly  re- 
stored. Thanking  the  old  woman,  who  with- 
drew, he  turned  to  his  friend,  saying:  "  I  beg 
you  now,  keep  me  no  longer  in  suspense. 
Tell  me  what  there  is  to  be  told?  " 

"  Your  enemies'  designs  very  nearly  suc- 
ceeded," began  Aleyne ;  "  but  Fate  decreed 
that  you  should  be  delivered  out  of  their 
hands." 


I2Q 

"  And  you  have  been  Fate's  instrument?  " 

"  One  of  them.  You  will  remember  how 
we  parted.  I  rode  away  to  Derby,  but  the  fol- 
lowing day  I  was  seized  with  a  feeling  that  it 
was  my  duty  to  return  and  strive  once  more 
to  prevail  upon  you  to  abandon  the  hopeless 
chasing  of  shadows.  On  reaching  Derby  I 
heard  to  my  consternation  that  you  had  dis- 
appeared. Your  horse  was  still  in  its  stall; 
your  servant  was  distracted,  and  nobody  could 
or  would  give  any  tidings  of  you.  Suspecting 
mischief,  I  resolved  to  discover  you  if  it  were 
possible.  I  fear,  however,  that  I  should  have 
failed  had  circumstances  not  aided  me.  The 
day  succeeding  my  return  Will  Dawson  came 
to  the  hostelry " 

"  It  was  Will  Dawson  who  betrayed  me, 
eh?"  exclaimed  Manners,  with  warmth. 

"  No,  Dawson  is  stanch  as  steel." 

"  Then  I  have  deeply  wronged  the  man  by 
thinking  so." 

"  If  you  have  thought  evil  of  him  you  have 
wronged  him.  He  was  the  bearer  of  a  mes- 
sage to  you." 

"  From  Dorothy? "  cried  Manners,  with 
newborn  eagerness. 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  when  he  learned  of  your 
strange  disappearance  he  hastened  back  to 


130 

Haddon  to  see  what  news  he  could  gather 
there.  But  his  inquiries  were  fruitless.  Brace- 
bridge  had  suddenly  departed  for  London, 
whither  he  had  been  summoned  by  special 
messenger  on  urgent  business  of  his  own." 

"  But  Bracebridge  is  surely  at  the  bottom  of 
this  business?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  so,  but  we  do  not  know. 
There  is  no  proof." 

"  Failing  to  get  tidings  that  would  guide 
him  at  Haddon,  Dawson  returned  to  me," 
continued  Aleyne,  "  and  together  we  jour- 
neyed to  Bakewell,  where  we  fell  in  with  that 
wonderful  woman  Jedaan,  who  by  some  magic, 
or  other  means,  discovered  in  two  days'  time 
that  you  had  been  carried  to  an  old  mill  in 
Miller's  Dale,  and  was  guarded  by  a  huge 
beast  known  as  Hal  and  a  creature  under  his 
orders.  Although  I  found  it  hard  to  restrain 
my  impatience,  I  yielded  to  Jedaan's  advice. 
She  counseled  strategy  instead  of  war,  and  un- 
dertook to  beguile  your  jailers.  It  was  she 
who  sent  you  a  cheering  message  by  means 
of  a  stone  through  your  window,  and  that 
night  she  went  to  the  mill,  while  I  and  Daw- 
son,  and  my  servant  and  your  servant  lay  in 
wait.  Into  the  men's  supper  broth  she  man- 
aged to  pour  some  drug  that  sent  them  into 


a  heavy  sleep,  when  she  relieved  them  of  the 
keys,  and,  hailing  me,  I  carried  you  forth  from 
out  of  what  would  have  been  your  tomb,  and 
by  good  Will  Dawson's  request  we  carried 
you  here  to  the  dwelling  of  his  grandmother." 

Manners  was  overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of  his 
indebtedness  to  his  friends  who  had  rescued 
him  from  a  hideous  death,  and  he  felt  angry 
with  himself  for  having  for  a  moment  sus- 
pected Dawson's  fidelity. 

For  some  little  time  he  was  speechless  with 
emotion,  but  he  tried  to  express  his  gratitude 
in  the  way  he  wrung  Aleyne's  hand. 

At  last  he  mastered  his  feelings  to  inquire 
about  Dawson. 

"  He  will  be  here  to-morrow,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  And  Jedaan?  " 

"  She  has  wandered  away,  impelled  by  the 
restlessness  of  her  nature,  but  will  return  soon. 
Sleep  and  food  will  soon  restore  you  to  your 
wonted  vigor,  and  to-morrow  we  will  discuss 
our  plans." 

Manners  recognized  the  soundness  of  this 
advice,  and,  the  suspense  being  ended,  he  soon 
fell  asleep. 


132 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   BOLD    MOVE. 

John  Manners'  state  of  mind — his  suspense 
and  anxiety — during  the  dark  hours  preceding 
the  day  which  was  to  bring  Will  Dawson  to 
his  grandmother's  house  at  Eynam  may  be 
more  easily  imagined  than  described.  He 
had  suspected  Dawson,  but  he  knew  now  he 
had  been  unfair  to  the  humble  man,  and  was 
anxious  to  make  such  amends  for  that  unfair- 
ness as  might  lie  in  his  power.  There  was 
another  reason  also  which  led  him  to  antici- 
pate the  coming  of  Dawson  with  an  eagerness 
that  was  like  a  fever  in  his  veins.  That  rea- 
son was  that  he  would  get  news  of  Dorothy 
Vernon.  His  friend  Aleyne  could  give  him 
none,  and  Jedaan,  who  possibly  might  have 
done  so,  had  taken  herself  off  before  he  had 
had  time  even  to  thank  her  for  the  great  serv- 
ice she  had  rendered  him. 

The  day  had  broken  sullenly,  and  toward 
high  noon  rain  commenced  to  fall.  William 


133 

Aleyne  had  ridden  into  Bakewell  in  search  of 
news,  and,  as  Dame  Wortley  busied  herself  in 
such  small  household  duties  as  claimed  her  at- 
tention and  came  within  her  strength,  John 
was  left  to  his  own  reflections,  and  now  he  was 
moody  and  now  sanguine. 

Noon  passed,  and  two  hours  of  the  afternoon 
had  slipped  away.  John  now  began  to  despair, 
but  at  length  Dawson  put  in  an  appearance. 
He  said  that  he  had  feared  that  he  would  not 
be  able  to  come,  for  a  hawking  party  was  ar- 
ranged at  Haddon.  The  rain,  however,  had 
stopped  it.  Manners  greeted  Dawson  with 
unrestrained  expressions  of  warmth,  and  asked 
excitedly:  "What  news  have  you,  Will?" 

"  I  have  no  news,  sir,  or  next  to  none,  so 
to  speak." 

Manners'  spirits  fell  again. 

"  But  how  is  Mistress  Dorothy?  " 

"  Not  very  well,  I  understand  from  Madge. 
She  has  for  some  days  kept  her  room  on  ac- 
count of  indisposition." 

The  heart  of  Manners  seemed  to  rise  up  in 
his  throat  at  this  information. 

"Why  is  she  ill?"  It  was  a  foolish  ques- 
tion, but  the  best  that  he  could  think  of  at  the 
moment. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  know  not." 


134 

"But  is  she  not  happy?" 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  know  nothing  of  Mistress 
Dorothy,  except  such  scraps  as  I  gather  from 
Madge;  but,  if  such  a  humble  man  as  I  am 
may  venture  on  a  remark,  I  would  say  she 
would  be  happier  if  the  bond  between  her  and 
Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  were  snapped  for 
ever." 

John's  brow  darkened  and  his  eyes  flashed 
at  this  mention  of  his  enemy;  but,  from  the 
questions  she  had  asked  him  on  that  memo- 
rable day  when  he  had  an  interview  with  her 
at  the  woodman's  hut,  he  knew  perfectly  well 
that  she  bore  Sir  Falconer  no  love,  and  could 
hardly  regard  him  with  respect. 

"  What  of  this  Sir  Falconer?  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  hear  he  is  away." 

"  Ay,  sir ;  he  has  gone  to  London." 

"  And  was  it  he  who  caused  me  to  be  car- 
ried off  and  held  prisoner?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  that,  sir.  It  is  a  mys- 
tery that  may  be  solved  anon.  But,  now  that 
we  have  found  you  again,  I  would  like  to 
speak  of  a  plan  that  was  in  my  mind  when  last 
I  saw  you." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  remember.  You  were  to  see 
me  the  next  day  after  you  had  discussed  your 


135 

plan  with  Madge.    It  has  to  do  with  Mistress 
Dorothy,  eh?" 

"  Tis  this  way,  sir.  Madge  likes  you,  and 
hates  Sir  Falconer;  and  she  is  of  opinion  that 
Mistress  Dorothy  would  like  to  see  you  again." 

John's  heart  beat  a  quicker  measure,  and  he 
almost  held  his  breath  with  suppressed  excite- 
ment. 

"  But  there  is  the  difficulty.  Lady  Vernon, 
it  is  said,  has  caused  Mistress  Dorothy  to  be 
watched,  and  the  young  lady  can  do  little  that 
is  not  known.  And,  perhaps,  your  own  goings 
and  comings  may  be  noted." 

"I  see  it,"  cried  Manners;  "a  new  light 
breaks  upon  me." 

Dawson  was  a  little  alarmed,  fearing  that 
he  had  committed  himself  rashly,  and  he  has- 
tened to  set  matters  right  by  saying: 

"  Remember,  sir,  that  I  have  no  grounds  for 
saying  this;  and,  should  it  come  to  my  lady's 
ears  that  I  had  allowed  my  tongue  to  wag  so 
freely  it  would  go  ill  with  me  indeed." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  Dawson,  that  I  am  capa- 
ble of  betraying  your  confidence?  I  will  never 
do  that." 

Dawson  breathed  more  freely. 

"  Coming  to  the  point,  sir,  there  seems  to 
be  but  one  way  by  which  you  can  have  oppor- 


136 

tunity  of  speech  with  Mistress  Dorothy.  And 
that  is  by  donning  the  dress  of  a  woodman 
and  taking  service  under  me." 

"  Dawson,  you  are  a  genius,"  cried  Man- 
ners delightedly.  "  I  know  little  of  woodcraft, 
but  I  can  rough  it  with  the  best.  It  may  en- 
able me  to  get  the  better  of  my  enemies." 

"  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  see  that,"  re- 
plied Dawson,  "  for  I  bear  this  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge  no  good-will,  and  I  would  like  to 
be  even  with  him  for  the  blow  he  once  gave 
me." 

"  Perhaps  your  revenge  will  come,"  said 
John.  "  And  now  tell  me,  when  shall  this  plan 
be  put  into  operation?  " 

"  Within  the  week.  We  are  miuch  about  a 
build,  and,  if  you  will  wear  some  clothes  of 
mine,  I  will  bring  you  all  that  is  necessary." 

"  In  view  of  the  object  to  be  gained,"  re- 
marked John  with  enthusiasm,  "  I  would 
wear  rags  and  tatters,  and  live  on  beggar's 
fare  for  a  year  and  a  day.  Delay  not  an  hour 
longer  than  you  can  help,  Dawson;  and, 
should  fortune  favor  me  in  this  adventure, 
never  fear  but  your  future  life  shall  be  an  easy 
one." 


137 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   DARKENING   OF  THE   SUN. 

When  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  returned 
from  Cheshire,  having  seen  the  body  of  his 
friend,  Sir  Ralph  Bardsdale,  deposited  in  the 
family  vault,  neither  his  temper  nor  his  man- 
ners had  undergone  any  improvement.  The 
Bardsdale  family  were  by  no  means  disposed 
to  regard  him  with  favor  when  they  heard 
how  the  representative  of  their  house  had 
fallen.  So  great  had  been  the  shock  to  the 
doting  mother  that  her  reason  had  left  her; 
and  when  the  poor  boy's  body  had  been  laid 
in  the  family  tomb  the  feelings  of  the  relatives 
found  vent  in  violent  abuse  of  Bracebridge, 
who  was  accused  of  being  morally  responsible 
for  the  boy's  death.  Sir  Falconer,  therefore, 
left  Cheshire  in  anything  but  a  pleasant  frame 
of  mind,  for  he  knew  that  this  unhappy  affair 
would  almost  certainly  be  productive  of  a  bit- 
ter feud  between  the  two  families. 

He  was,  however,  a  reckless,  daring,  and 


138 

ambitious  man,  and  not  the  one  to  allow  the 
death  of  an  insignificant  youth  to  interfere  with 
his  schemes  of  self-aggrandizement.  His 
union  with  Dorothy  Vernon  would  not  only 
bring  him  great  wealth,  but  power,  and  it  was 
astonishing,  therefore,  that  he  did  not  en-! 
deavor  to  overcome  his  arrogance.  But  he 
had  not  been  back  at  Haddon  more  than  two 
or  three  days  ere  he  allowed  his  weakness  to 
display  itself. 

He  heard  that  John  Manners  was  still  lin- 
gering in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  Lady 
Vernon  hinted  that  there  was  some  reason  to 
suspect  that  Dorothy  had  held  communication 
with  him ;  and  that  his  presence  in  Derbyshire 
was  a  standing  menace.  Whereupon  Brace- 
bridge  took  the  poor  girl  to  task,  not  with  the 
gentleness  of  the  lover,  but  rather  with  the 
sternness  of  an  offended  master.  Overcome 
with  grief,  she  went  to  her  father,  and  ap- 
pealed to  him  to  put  an  end  to  the  engagement 
between  herself  and  Sir  Falconer,  as  she  was 
sure  she  would  never  be  happy  with  him. 

Sir  George  Vernon  could  at  times  be  iron- 
willed  and  stubborn  enough,  though  in  a  gen- 
eral way  he  was  an  easy-going,  good-tempered 
man,  who  loved  ease  and  comfort,  and  was 
strongly  opposed  to  contention  in  his  family. 


139 

He  showed  no  inclination  to  take  a  serious 
view  of  Dorothy's  trouble.  He  pointed  out 
that  a  man  could  hardly  love  a  woman  with- 
out being  jealous  of  her,  and  if  Bracebridge 
had  cause  to  suspect  that  she  was  not  loyal  to 
him,  what  more  natural  than  that  he  should 
be  hurt?  But  Dorothy  protested  tearfully  that 
if  her  lover  domineered  before  marriage,  he 
was  likely  to  attempt  to  rule  with  a  rod  of  iron 
after  marriage,  and  she  urged  with  the  elo- 
quence of  despair  that  she  should  be  released 
from  her  troth. 

Sir  George  was  moved.  The  happiness  of 
his  dear  Doll  was  the  study  of  his  life,  and  he 
promised  to  discuss  the  matter  with  his  wife. 
Lady  Vernon  listened  impatiently  to  his  argu- 
ments, and  then  rated  him  soundly  for  being 
so  weak  as  to  allow  "  an  inexperienced  and  ir- 
responsible girl  to  influence  him." 

"  Surely,"  she  exclaimed,  "  we  are  the  best 
judges  of  what  is  good  for  the  child's  welfare, 
and  this  silly  prejudice  of  hers  must  not  be 
taken  seriously.  Until  that  luckless  day  when 
John  Manners  came  to  the  house  she  was  an 
obedient  and  tractable  daughter.  And  ill  be- 
comes it,  my  Lord,  that  you  should  encourage 
her  in  her  waywardness." 

"  I  do  not  encourage  her,  dame." 


140 

"  But  she  thinks  you  do.  Think  what  the 
consequences  would  be  if  we  were  to  give 
countenance  to  this  nameless  beggar,  John 
Manners.  The  honor  and  pride  of  your  house 
are  at  stake,  and  Dorothy  must  not  be  allowed 
to  counteract  the  effect  of  our  dutiful  daugh- 
ter Margaret's  marriage.  Doll  is  young,  and 
does  not  know  her  mind,  and  I  say,  sir,  it  is 
your  solemn  duty  to  guide  her." 

"  There  is  something  in  what  you  say,"  re- 
marked her  lord  thoughtfully. 

Encouraged  by  the  advantage  she  had  thus 
gained,  she  drove  home  the  argument  with 
greater  force. 

"  Ay,  in  truth  there  is  something  in  it,"  she 
exclaimed  loftily.  "  The  family  honor  is  at 
stake.  Is  the  whim  and  fancy  of  a  child  to  be 
allowed  to  override  the  sound  judgment  of  a 
father  who  has  the  child's  welfare  at  heart? 
And,  above  all,  sir,  talk  not  of  indulgence. 
'Tis  a  fatal  error  parents  make  with  their  chil- 
dren." 

Poor  Sir  George  was  completely  subdued, 
and  his  lady's  specious  reasoning  had  its  ef- 
fect. The  result  was  that  he  gently,  yet  firm- 
ly, led  Dorothy  to  understand  that  no  serious 
notice  could  be  taken  of  her  complaint,  and 


that  her  future  interests  and  welfare  were 
bound  up  in  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge. 

The  poor  girl  was  disheartened,  and  sought 
consolation  from  her  sister  Margaret,  but 
failed  to  obtain  it.  Margaret  was  engrossed 
and  absorbed  in  her  own  affairs,  and  full  of  the 
preparations  that  were  being  pushed  forward 
for  her  own  wedding.  She  urged  Dorothy  to 
hasten  to  make  up  her  difference  with  Brace- 
bridge,  and  to  win  and  woo  him  to  her  feet  by 
those  arts  and  wiles  which  were  the  legitimate 
weapons  of  every  woman. 

Dorothy  knew  now  that  she  had  little  to 
hope  for  from  her  family,  and  she  poured  out 
her  heart's  distress  into  the  willing  ears  of 
doting  old  Madge,  who  crooned  over  her  dar- 
ling, and  bade  her  not  take  on  so,  and,  betrayed 
at  last  into  passionate  invective  when  she 
found  that  she  failed  by  fair  argument  to  allay 
the  distress,  she  exclaimed: 

"  Tis  shameful  that  your  father  and  sister 
and  my  lady  should  treat  you  with  so  small 
concern  for  your  happiness.  It  is  selfish  and 
unmannerly,  and  ill  becomes  them,  for  truly 
you  are  the  bonniest  bird  in  the  nest.  I  care 
not  if  they  hear  me.  I  would  tell  them  my 
thoughts,  though  they  cast  me  out  the  next 
moment." 


142 

"  Never  mind,  dear  nurse.  I  shall  get  over 
it.  I  must  obey  my  father  though  I  crush 
myself." 

"  If  I  were  you,"  cried  Madge  with  fiery 
vehemence,  "  I  would  defy  even  my  father." 

"  Hush,  Madge ;  that  is  treason." 

"  I  care  not,  and  they  may  hang  me  on  the 
nearest  tree  if  it  pleases  them.  I  have  grown 
gray  in  their  service,  and  nursed  you  through 
all  these  years,  and  it  maddens  me  to  see  your 
distress.  If  I  be  allowed  to  judge,  I  say  that 
the  little  finger  of  John  Manners  is  worth  all 
the  body  of  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge." 

"  But  how  do  I  know  that  Manners  hath 
any  regard  for  me?  "  queried  Dorothy  artfully, 
and  not  sorry  to  make  him  the  theme  of  the 
argument. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  nurse  sapiently,  "  if 
signs  are  read  aright,  you  have  pierced  Man- 
ners' heart  with  your  glances,  else  why  lingers 
he  here?  And,  then,  what  says  Will  Dawson? 
And,  mark  you,  a  man  can  read  a  man  in  such 
matters.  He  declares  that  Master  Manners 
would  carve  his  way  through  a  multitude  to 
gain  your  approving  smile." 

"  Heigho !  "  sighed  Dorothy. 

"  That  sigh  tells  its  own  tale.  Why  not  fol- 
low the  promptings  of  your  heart?  " 


143 

"  It  cannot  be,  Madge ;  it  cannot,  cannot !  " 
moaned  Dorothy  in  an  outbreak  of  distress. 

"  Fudge !  I  say  that  true  love  finds  out  a 
way,  and  not  locks  nor  bars  can  keep  true 
lovers  apart." 

Dorothy  folded  her  arms  around  the  faithful 
old  nurse's  neck,  and  laid  her  dear  head  on 
the  withered  old  breast  that  rose  and  fell  with 
the  passion  of  indignation  that  stirred  Madge 
as  she  had  seldom  been  stirred  before;  and  in 
mufrled  voice  the  girl  said  softly  with  a  fret : 

"  Nurse,  I  would  give  much  to  see  Master 
Manners  once  again,  for  I  would  put  some 
further  questions  to  him  about  Sir  Falconer." 

"  And  you  shall  see  him,  child,  if  I  can  bring 
him  to  you." 


144 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A   BARBED    SHAFT   AND    ITS    PRICKINGS. 

Some  days  passed,  then  Madge  was  driven 
to  give  Dorothy  some  disquieting  news.  Mas- 
ter Manners  had  mysteriously  disappeared. 
Rumors  were  many  and  varied.  Some  said 
he  had  had  unholy  dealings  with  a  weird 
woman,  and  she  had  spirited  him  away.  Oth- 
ers, that  he  had  quarreled  desperately  with  his 
friend,  who  had  gone  off  in  high  dudgeon; 
while,  in  despair  and  chagrin,  Manners  had 
drowned  himself. 

But  the  story  which  found  most  credence 
with  the  rustics  was  that  he  had  eloped.  For, 
by  a  strange  coincidence,  and  synchronizing 
with  his  own  disappearance,  the  pretty  and 
willful  daughter — one  Elfrida  Wildgoose — of 
an  honest  farmer  of  Matlock  had  left  her  home 
and  gone,  none  knew  whither.  There  was 
nobody  could  say  that  John  Manners  and  the 
fair  Elfrida  had  been  seen  together.  But,  in 
the  rustic  logic,  that  counted  for  little;  the 


145 

fact  remained,  they  were  both  away,  and  that 
counted  for  much. 

The  news  of  his  disappearance  was  like  a 
thunderbolt  to  Dorothy.  During  the  past  two 
days  she  had  been  very  bright  and  happy,  be- 
cause Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  had  gone  to 
London  on  "  urgent  business,"  as  he  declared. 
Doll  was  not  interested  in  the  urgency  of  his 
departure,  but  she  was  relieved  by  his  absence, 
and  the  sun  was  bright  again.  Now  came  the 
sudden  tidings  that  Manners  had  gone,  too, 
and  a  dreadful  thought  tortured  her — perhaps 
Sir  Falconer  had  killed  him.  When  she  dark- 
ly and  shudderingly  hinted  this  to  her  nurse, 
Madge  exclaimed  hastily  and  with  bitterness: 

"  I'll  warrant  you  it  is  so.  This  same  Sir 
Falconer  has  the  fiend's  nature,  with  the  cun- 
ning of  the  serpent,  and,  having  killed  your 
true  lover,  he  has  gone  a  journey  that  sus- 
picion may  not  fall  upon  him." 

Doll's  distress  was  so  keen  and  agonizing 
that  she  said  she  would  go  to  her  father  and 
tell  him  that  Bracebridge  had  killed  John  Man- 
ners, but  against  this  Madge  resolutely  set  her 
face. 

"  Proof  would  be  demanded,  my  child,  and 
you  have  no  proof,"  said  Madge, 


146 

"  But  Sir  Falconer  and  John  Manners  have 
already  fought,"  urged  Dorothy. 

"  Ay,  ay,  but  it  was  a  fair  fight,  as  we  are 
told,  and  arose  from  Master  Manners  having 
spoken  ill  of  your  wooer.  But  it  would  be  a 
serious  business  to  accuse  your  lover  of  mur- 
der. Have  patience,  sweet  one,  have  patience, 
and  the  truth  may  come  out,  and  you  may 
have  good  grounds  to  get  rid  of  Sir  Falconer." 

"  I  trust  it  may  be  so,"  sighed  Dorothy, 
thinking  only  of  the  relief  she  would  expe- 
rience if  she  could  send  about  his  business  the 
man  to  whom  she  was  pledged,  but  who  did 
not,  and  never  would,  possess  her  heart. 

Not  many  hours  passed  before  Madge  came 
with  a  fresh  version  of  Manners'  disappear- 
ance. The  gossip  and  the  tattle  had  spread, 
and  it  ran  from  tongue  to  tongue  in  the  serv- 
ants' region  at  Haddon,  that  pretty  Elfrida 
Wildgoose,  who  had  a  local  reputation  as  "  a 
fine,  handsome  wench,  but  flighty,"  had  gone 
off  with  John  Manners.  To  these  gossips  John 
Manners  was  of  no  interest,  being  only  a 
passer-by.  But  Elfrida  was  known ;  stories  of 
her  coquetry  were  current.  It  was  said  she 
had  trifled  with  this  lad  and  flirted  with  that 
one ;  and  many  a  village  swain  had  broken  his 
heart  about  her.  And  now  she  had  run  away, 


147 

and  the  stranger  who  had  fought  with  Sir  Fal- 
coner and  been  worsted,  and  was  known  to 
have  been  lingering  in  Darley,  had  gone  as 
well.  What  could  be  more  certain  than  that 
they  had  gone  together?  It  was  a  fine  piece 
of  rustic  logic,  and  to  shallow  minds  it  was 
proof  "  strong  as  Holy  writ." 

"  He  is  an  Earl's  son,  you  see,"  remarked  a 
kitchen  Solomon,  "  and  that  is  the  glamour ; 
but  right  sure  she'll  come  to  her  senses  and 
need  somebody  to  console  her — then  she'll  find 
none  to  do  it  in  all  Haddon,  for  who'd  give 
countenance  to  a  slut?  It  will  be  a  doleful 
day  for  her  when  she  comes  to  her  senses,  or 
I'm  no  true  man." 

Madge,  of  course,  heard  this  bit  of  village 
scandal;  and,  being  a  fairly  impartial  chron- 
icler, she  carried  it  to  her  young  mistress,  but 
when  she  saw  the  effect  it  had  on  Dorothy, 
who  turned  pale,  and  seemed  to  be  shocked, 
she  quickly  added: 

"  If  John  Manners  has  bemeaned  himself, 
then  I'll  have  no  more  faith  in  honest-looking 
eyes." 

"  But  might  not  the  story  be  true,  nurse?  " 
asked  Doll  under  her  breath. 

"  Why,  yes,  it  might ;  but  I  don't  believe  it. 
These  country  folks  are  always  ready  with 


148 

venom  on  their  tongues  to  besmirch  a  reputa- 
tion. Now,  since  we  are  discussing  '  might,' 
I  say  might  it  not  be  that  Sir  Falconer  has 
ta'en  the  maid  away?  " 

Here  Madge  showed  her  inconsistency  by 
doing  that  which  in  the  same  breath  she  had 
condemned. 

"  Oh,  Madge !  "  gasped  Dorothy,  the  pale- 
ness of  her  face  giving  place  to  a  sudden  flush 
of  excitement. 

"  Mark  you,  my  treasure,  I  only  say  such  a 
thing  might  be." 

"  But,  Madge,  if  we  could  but  prove  it." 

"  Ah,  if  we  could  it  would  be  a  bitter  draught 
for  your  lady  mother  to  swallow.  Eh?"  and 
Madge  chuckled  at  the  very  thought,  for  noth- 
ing would  have  delighted  her  more  than  to 
see  her  new  mistress  humiliated. 

Dorothy  remained  silent;  she  sank  into  a 
state  of  absorbed  pensiveness,  and,  as  may  be 
imagined,  her  thoughts  were  not  conducive  to 
tranquillity  of  mind.  Nor  was  she  comforted 
when  later  on  her  stepmother  sent  a  message 
that  she  was  to  attend  her  in  her  private  cham- 
ber. 

She  found  my  lady  busy  with  embroidery 
work,  and  she  said  as  an  excuse  for  sending  for 
Dorothy  that  she  wished  her  stepdaughter's 


149 

advice  in  contrasting  some  colors.  For  a 
time  the  conversation  was  entirely  about  the 
work,  until  at  last  Lady  Vernon  gave  it  a  more 
general  turn,  and  finally  with  artistic  artful- 
ness remarked : 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  fine  bit  of  scandal 
going  about  affecting  the  reputation  of  that 
flighty  girl,  the  daughter  of  old  Wildgoose." 
She  fixed  her  eyes  on  Dorothy's  face  to  note 
the  effect  of  her  words,  but  learned  nothing. 
"  It  appears,"  she  continued,  "  the  girl  has 
gone  off,  and  her  father  is  broken-hearted.  It 
was  a  sad  thing  her  losing  her  mother.  She 
has  never  been  under  proper  control  since 
then,  and  was  always  given  to  willfulness." 

"  Is  there  any  word  as  to  where  she  has  gone 
to?  "  asked  Dorothy,  bending  over  the  work, 
as  if  she  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  El- 
frida  Wildgoose. 

"  Indeed,  no.  The  hussy  has  left  no  trace, 
but  it's  very  curious  that  that  young  gallant, 
John  Manners,  who  for  some  reason  has  been 
loitering  in  Darley,  has  also  disappeared." 

"  And  what  does  that  point  to? "  asked 
Dorothy  in  trepidation,  and  understanding 
her  stepmother's  drift  only  too  well. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  speak  with  certainty 
when  I  have  no  warrant,  but  I  do  say  the  two 


ISO 

things  raise  a  grave  suspicion,  and  from  my 
informations  I  believe  Master  Manners  is  loose 
enough  for  any  wickedness." 

Dorothy  knew  that  this  shaft  was  aimed  at 
her,  and  she  was  no  less  pained  than  indig- 
nant, though  she  made  desperate  efforts  to  pre- 
vent any  outward  indication  of  what  was  pass- 
ing through  her  mind.  The  opportunity,  how- 
ever, for  a  counter  stroke  was  so  good  that 
she  could  not  possibly  resist  it,  and  with  a 
lowering  of  her  eyes  she  remarked : 

"  Is  it  not  curious,  mother,  that  Sir  Fal- 
coner's going  hence  should  also  be  timed  with 
Elfrida  Wildgoose's  disappearance? ' 

If  Doll  had  slapped  her  stepmother's  face 
the  effect  on  that  lady  could  hardly  have  been 
more  startling  than  was  that  of  the  barbed 
question.  Her  work  fell  from  her  hand,  she 
grew  pale  and  red  by  turns,  and  her  eyes, 
kindling  with  uncontrollable  wrath,  were  bent 
on  Dorothy,  to  the  poor  girl's  terror,  for  she 
saw  that  a  storm  was  about  to  burst  upon  her 
devoted  head. 

"  Oh,  but  this  must  go  to  your  father," 
shrieked  the  irate  lady,  "  for,  in  truth,  a  more 
shameless  charge  never  fell  from  the  lips  of  a 
maid  against  her  betrothed. 

"  But,  mother,  I  did  not  make  a  charge," 


pleaded  Doll  with  a  whimper,  for  her  feelings 
were  overcoming  her. 

"  What !  No  charge !  What  name  do  you 
give  it,  then?  " 

Dorothy  fired  up  ever  so  little. 

"  Madam,"  she  said,  "  you  insinuated  that 
John  Manners  had  gone  away  with  Elfrida 
Wildgoose,  and  I  only  retorted  by  remarking 
on  the  strangeness  of  Sir  Falconer's  going 
from  hence  almost  at  the  same  time  as  Elfrida 
disappeared  from  her  home." 

This  did  not  mend  matters;  in  fact,  it  only 
served  to  excite  Lady  Vernon  still  more,  and 
she  made  that  clear  by  saying: 

"  You  add  but  fuel  to  the  fire,  and  out  of 
your  own  mouth  you  convict  yourself  of  pal- 
tering with  your  lawful  wooer,  and  letting 
your  mind  run  upon  a  wastrel " 

"Mother!" 

"  '  Mother '  not  me.  I  say  you  bring  dis- 
grace upon  your  womanhood,  for  it  is  wicked, 
and  unworthy  the  daughter  of  my  lord.  Take 
a  lesson  from  your  sister  Margaret,  who  has 
not  so  much  as  a  pinhole  in  the  armor  of  her 
virtue.  Indeed,  my  lord  will  be  distraught 
when  he  hears  this.  But  I  have  no  patience 
to  discuss  this  matter  further.  Heavy  is  my 
heart  to  think  that  one  so  seeming  fair  should 


152 

trifle  so  lightly  with  the  honor  of  her  house." 
This  brought  Dorothy  to  her  feet  with  a 
jerk,  so  to  speak,  and  for  the  first  time  she  met 
angry  glance  with  angry  glance. 

"  Madam,  I  will  stay  no  longer  to  listen  to 
such  harshness.  I  have  done  nothing  to  bring 
the  honor  of  my  house  into  jeopardy,  and  I 
swear  I  have  done  no  wrong." 

She  could  not  trust  herself  to  utter  another 
word,  but  rushed  from  the  room  to  Lady  Ver- 
non's  astonishment,  for  the  haughty  dame  was 
thunderstruck  to  find  that  she  had  raised  the 
spirit  of  retort  in  the  hitherto  meek  and  mild 
Dorothy.  Her  pride  and  vanity  were  wounded, 
too,  for  she  liked  to  rule  with  an  iron  hand. 
Then  there  was  another  reason  why  her  feel- 
ings were  more  than  ruffled.  It  was  clear  to 
her  that  Dorothy  no  longer  had  even  respect 
for  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge,  and  that  after 
all  the  match  upon  which  she  had  set  her 
heart  might  not  come  off.  If  this  were  so, 
she  felt  at  that  moment  as  if  she  would  never 
get  over  the  defeat,  so  great  would  be  the  blow 
to  her  pride.  Of  such  vital  importance  was 
the  whole  business  as  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
lost  not  a  moment  in  seeking  her  husband, 
and  laying  before  him  a  full  statement  of  what 
had  passed  between  her  and  Dorothy ;  nor  did 


153 

she  fail  to  make  much  of  Dorothy's  remark 
regarding  Sir  Falconer. 

Sir  George  listened  with  a  gravity  not  alto- 
gether usual  with  him,  and  then  provoked  his 
lady  into  a  further  outpouring  of  her  vials  of 
wrath  by  saying  that  he  thought  she  took  too 
exaggerated  a  view  of  the  matter,  and  was  prej- 
udiced against  Dorothy. 

"  My  lord,'  she  said  sternly,  "  do  you  call  it 
exaggeration  to  say  that  a  maid  can  have  but 
small  concern  for  her  affianced  lover  when,  un- 
moved, she  hints  that  he  has  gone  off  with 
another?  " 

"  Well,  well,  perhaps  the  lass  spoke  with  but 
a  light  mind.  You  cannot  have  a  head  choke- 
ful  of  windows  on  young  shoulders." 

"  No,  my  lord,  but  one  looks  for  common- 
sense  even  in  the  young,"  she  answered  iron- 
ically. 

"  Do  you  charge  my  Doll  with  lacking  com- 
mon sense,  madam?"  cried  Sir  George  irri- 
tably, but  his  lady  was  not  to  be  subdued  by  a 
show  of  irritation. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  "  you  fail  to  see  the  point  of 
my  argument.  It  was  only  when  I  referred 
to  John  Manners'  strange  disappearance  from 
Darley  at  the  very  time  when  Elfrida  runs  from 
her  home  that  Dorothy  hints  that  Sir  Fal- 


154 
coner  and  the  girl  might  have  gone  together." 

Sir  George  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Well,  well,  come,  dame,  don't  be  too 
harsh.  After  all,  it  was  only  a  jest." 

"  A  poor  jest  it  seems  to  me.  It  was  ma- 
lignancy, my  lord,  because  she  was  aggrieved 
at  hearing  aught  said  against  this  Manners. 
Don't  be  willfully  blind,  my  lord,  and  you  will 
see  the  matter  in  its  true  light." 

Sir  George  became  grave  again,  and  stroked 
his  beard  after  the  manner  of  a  man  who  was 
much  troubled;  and,  being  desirous  of  ending 
an  interview  which  was  hardly  likely  to  be 
conducive  to  peace  of  mind,  he  said  he  would 
think  over  what  had  passed,  and  if  it  seemed 
to  him  necessary  he  would  take  Dorothy  to 
task. 

Thus  he  left  his  angry  lady,  and  went  out 
into  the  grounds,  feeling  more  troubled  than 
he  had  been  for  many  a  long  day. 


155 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BETTER   THAN   THE   PHYSICIAN. 

Dorothy  fled  to  her  room  when  she  left  her 
mother's  chamber,  and  so  intensely  strained 
were  her  feelings  that  she  succumbed  to  a 
passionate  outburst  of  weeping.  She  was  a 
high-spirited  girl,  and  to  be  snubbed  and 
treated  as  if  she  were  merely  a  capricious  and 
irresponsible  child  was  more  than  she  could 
endure.  Nor  was  it  unreasonable  for  her  at 
that  stage  to  take  a  somewhat  despairing  view 
of  the  situation  as  she  saw  it. 

In  the  early  stages  of  her  acquaintance  with 
Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  she  had  felt  some 
measure  of  admiration  at  least  for  him.  He 
was  a  fine  man,  physically;  a  daring  rider,  a 
bold  huntsman,  an  expert  swordsman,  and  of 
dauntless  courage.  He  was  ambitious,  too, 
and,  according  to  his  own  showing,  had  power- 
ful friends  at  Court. 

As  the  acquaintance  ripened  the  glamour  dis- 
solved away,  and  Dorothy  began  to  think  that 


156 

her  lover  was  not  without  a  strong  element  of 
the  swashbuckler  in  his  composition.  He  des- 
canted with  glib  tongue  on  his  own  exploits, 
and  boasted  roundly  of  his  prowess  both  as  a 
fighter  and  a  debater.  To  Dorothy  Vernon 
this  weakness  was  something  more  than  of- 
fensive, though  she  might  have  tolerated  it 
had  he  been  less  masterful,  less  tyrannical,  less 
violent-tempered.  Whatever  others  thought 
of  these  faults  of  character,  Doll  regarded  them 
with  grave  misgivings,  and,  finding  that  she 
could  not  hope  for  sympathy  from  her  fam- 
ily, derived  some  measure  of  consolation  by 
the  discussion  of  her  trouble  with  faithful  old 
Madge,  who  was  singularly  shrewd  and  far- 
seeing,  with  a  natural  aptitude  for  judging 
men.  And  in  this  instance  her  faculties  had 
been  quickened  by  reason  of  her  anxiety  for 
the  happiness  of  Dorothy,  who  was  all  the 
world  to  her. 

Although  Madge's  opportunities  of  knowing 
Sir  Falconer  were  relatively  few,  she  had  seen 
enough  of  him  to  be  prejudiced  against  him; 
and  what  she  learned  from  her  "  love  bird  " 
excited  her  to  anger;  but  it  was  only  when 
John  Manners  appeared  upon  the  scene  that 
she  felt  her  opportunity  had  come.  It  must 
not  be  supposed  that  she  would  have  inter- 


157 

fered  even  then  but  for  two  reasons.  She  was 
much  impressed  with  Manners.  Figuratively, 
she  placed  him  and  Bracebridge  side  by  side. 
She  examined  them  carefully;  she  weighed 
them,  measured  them,  probed  them,  con- 
trasted them,  the  result  being  that  John  came 
off  with  flying  colors,  and  his  rival  was  en- 
tirely overshadowed.  She  also  detected  in 
Dorothy  certain  faint  signs  of  admiration  for 
Manners,  and  that  justified  her,  as  she  honestly 
believed,  in  paying  Manners  off  against  Brace- 
bridge. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  she  had  any 
foreknowledge  of  the  tremendous  changes  that 
would  result  from  the  forging  of  a  link  be- 
tween the  Vernons  and  the  Manners.  She  only 
understood  destiny  as  if  affected  to-day's  hap- 
piness of  the  young  girl  upon  whom  she  lav- 
ished all  the  affections  of  her  kindly  nature. 
She  dreamed  no  dreams  of  the  future.  And 
if  she  intrigued  it  was  that  Dorothy  might 
smile  instead  of  weep. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  at  this  time  Dorothy 
Vernon  herself  did  not  understand  the  issues 
at  stake.  What  she  did  understand,  and  feel 
to  the  quick,  was  that  her  people  wished  her 
to  marry  a  man  for  whom  she  instinctively  felt 
she  could  entertain  no  wifely  regard.  That 


158 

was  sore  trouble  enough,  in  all  conscience,  for 
a  young  girl.  At  the  same  time,  John  Man- 
ners was  only  a  shadowy  figure  to  her,  in  a 
sense.  Love  is  insidious,  and  takes  possession 
of  us  before  we  are  aware  of  it,  and  the  most 
that  the  girl  would  have  confessed  to  at  this 
stage  was  that  she  was  interested  in  Manners. 
But  when  a  young  woman  admits  interest  in 
a  young  man  it  is  a  sign  that  forces  are  at 
work  which  may  speedily  change  interest  to 
love. 

Now,  it  chanced  that  while  Dorothy  Vernon 
was  weeping  her  eyes  out,  after  that  fateful 
interview  with  her  stepmother,  Madge  sought 
her  in  order  that  she  might  impart  an  item 
of  momentous  news.  The  missing  John  Man- 
ners had  been  found.  She  had  set  Will  Daw- 
son  on  to  worm  out  some  information,  if  pos- 
sible ;  and  he  had  allied  himself  with  the  weird 
woman  Jedaan  and  Manners'  great  friend, 
William  Aleyne.  By  the  instrumentality  of 
Jedaan,  principally,  the  prison  house  of  Man- 
ners had  been  discovered,  and,  by  a  fine  bit 
of  strategy  that  overcame  the  cunning  of  his 
captors,  he  had  been  rescued  in  the  very  nick 
of  time. 

Dawson  hurried  to  Madge  with  the  particu- 
lars, and  she  hobbled  as  fast  as  her  aged  limbs 


159 

would  carry  her  to  Doll,  to  find  her  bowed 
with  a  grief  so  violent  that  she  was  hysterical. 
Terrified  by  Dorothy's  sufferings,  the  nurse 
forgot  all  about  Manners,  and  fell  to  crooning 
over  the  distracted  girl,  using  all  her  feminine 
craft  to  woo  her  back  to  calmness.  Doll,  how- 
ever, had  received  such  a  shock  that  for  once 
Madge's  magnetic  powers  failed,  and,  alarmed 
by  her  dear  one's  burning  face  and  bloodshot 
eyes,  she  went  off  to  her  master  and  reported 
matters.  He,  knowing  of  what  had  taken 
place  between  his  lady  and  his  daughter,  was 
less  alarmed  than  the  nurse;  counseled  rest 
and  a  hot  posset. 

The  morning  dawned,  however,  and  found 
poor  Dorothy  in  a  fever.  Then  the  family 
physician  was  sent  for.  He  was  grave  and 
solemn  when  he  came  forth  from  the  sick 
chamber;  spoke  of  a  shock  to  the  nerves,  of 
overheated  blood,  of  a  tendency  to  a  feverish 
condition  of  the  brain,  which  might  necessi- 
tate the  clipping  away  of  all  the  glorious  hair. 
He  left  a  volume  of  orders  embracing  what 
was  to  be  done,  and  what  not  to  be  done,  and 
a  stringent  injunction  that  the  fair  patient  was 
to  be  kept  perfectly  quiet  and  free  from  all  ex- 
citement. 

Sir  George  Vernon  was  much  distressed, 


i6o 

and  his  lady,  on  account  of  certain  prickings  of 
conscience,  wept.  But  old  Madge,  she  buckled 
to,  and  said  "  Fudge,"  and  called  the  leech 
quack-salver.  She  vowed  by  all  the  saints  in 
the  calendar  that  no  one  should  cut  off  the 
glory  of  gold  from  the  head  of  her  darling. 
So  she  set  to  work  and  bathed  the  head  with 
damask  water.  She  concocted  a  poultice  of 
crushed  mustard  seeds  and  capsicums,  and  ap- 
plied to  the  patient's  feet,  and  gave  her  spiced 
rice  water  to  drink.  And  she  sat  by  the  bed- 
side, and  crooned  such  a  soothing,  low  lullaby 
that  the  sick  girl  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  and 
was  so  sleeping  when  the  learned  doctor  re- 
turned. 

Ah!  How  clever  he  was!  He  had  been 
poring  over  dusty  tomes  which  he  had  reached 
from  his  shelf  to  read  up  authorities  on  "  A 
tendency  to  a  feverish  condition  of  the  brain," 
and  had  come  back  armed  with  a  dozen 
specifics,  and  a  formidable  pair  of  shears,  for 
he  expected,  and  possibly  hoped,  for  could  he 
not  then  display  his  wondrous  skill,  to  find 
his  patient  raving;  and  he  was  further  pro- 
vided with  scalpels  for  the  blood-letting.  But 
here  she  was  sleeping  calmly,  with  normal  tem- 
perature and  gentle  pulse. 

Madge,  wiser  in  her  ignorance  than  all  the 


rest,  guessed  that  there  was  no  disease  work- 
ing in  that  sweet  body,  but  that  the  poor 
nerves  had  been  played  upon  to  their  undoing 
by  the  sharp  tongue  of  "  My  Lady,"  and  that 
the  blessed  oblivion  of  sleep  would  bring  the 
needed  balm. 

The  disciple  of  ^Esculapius  went  his  way, 
swelled  with  a  sense  of  his  own  importance, 
having  left  another  sheaf  of  orders  and  the 
comforting  assurance  that  he  would  return  on 
the  morrow. 

Gloriously  came  in  the  new  day.  The 
birds  sang  blithely,  the  scent  of  flowers  as  they 
exhaled  the  morning  dew  saturated  the  air, 
and  the  sun's  broad  beams  flung  a  wealth  of 
gold  over  the  land.  Dorothy  awoke  refreshed, 
but  pale;  she  said  she  had  enjoyed  a  perfect 
night's  rest.  She  bade  Madge  comb  and 
brush  the  wondrous  tresses,  and  this  operation 
was  being  performed  when  the  doctor  sailed 
in;  and,  with  a  glance  of  the  eye,  gathered 
that  there  was  no  call  for  his  operations. 
Nevertheless,  he  subjected  Dorothy  to  much 
questioning,  greatly  to  her  surprise,  and  in- 
sisted that  she  was  very  ill,  although  she  her- 
self was  conscious  of  no  illness,  and  told  him 
that  when  her  hair  was  dressed  she  was  going 
into  the  grounds  with  her  spaniels. 


162 

But  here  the  doctor  rose  to  the  occasion.  It 
was  not  every  day  he  had  such  a  patient  as  the 
daughter  of  the  King  of  the  Peak,  and  he  had 
no  intention  of  letting  her  slip  through  his 
fingers  like  that.  So  he  discoursed  learnedly, 
used  a  wealth  of  jargon,  and  hinted  at  a  thou- 
sand dangers  she  would  run  if  she  went  forth 
yet.  For  a  week  at  least  she  must  keep  her 
chamber,  and  drink  various  nostrums  he  would 
send  her;  and  so  importunate  did  he  become 
that  she  yielded,  particularly  as  she  detected  a 
merry  twinkle  in  old  Madge's  eye.  So  the 
good  man  departed  happy,  and  calculating  the 
amount  of  the  bill  he  would  render  for  his  in- 
valuable services. 

"  My  dearest,"  said  Madge,  chuckling, 
when  the  door  had  closed,  and  the  sounds  of 
the  wise  physician's  retreating  feet  had  died 
away,  "  we  have  won  the  game.  For  a  week 
you  shall  keep  your  chamber ;  it  will  be  a  holi- 
day from  your  lady  mother's  tongue.  And 
dainty  meats  you  shall  have,  and  a  stoup  of 
good  red  wine  each  day,  and  venison  steaks 
for  thy  dawn-meat,  and  possets  sweetened  with 
honey." 

"  Now,  good  Madge,"  cried  Dorothy, 
iaughing,  "  surely  you  don't  want  to  fatten  me 
for  the  market?  " 


163 

"  No,  sweet  one ;  but  you  must  support  your 
strength." 

"  My  hurt  is  here,  Madge,"  said  Doll, 
touching  her  head ;  then  seeing  a  look  of  con- 
cern sweep  over  the  old  nurse's  face,  she  added 
quickly :  "  I  mean  I  am  much  concerned  at 
my  mother's  anger.  She  scolds  me  harshly, 
and  would  force  me  into  Sir  Falconer's  arms, 
whether  I  will  or  not."  Doll  then  detailed 
the  previous  day's  occurrences,  to  which 
Madge  lent  an  impatient  ear,  and  burst  out  at 
last  with  an  angry : 

"  Pshaw !  Your  lady  mother  must  be 
taught  manners " 

"  Don't  forget  your  respect,  Madge," 
checked  Doll  reprovingly. 

"  Forgive  me ;  faith  I  lose  temper  to  see  you 
treated  so  unseemly." 

"  Ah,  Madge,  how  well  I  know  your  heart's 
goodness.  Come,  let  me  kiss  your  dear  old 
wizened  face.  I  am  my  father's  daughter, 
and  must,  by  duty's  law,  do  as  my  father  bids 
me." 

"  Though  he  bids  thee  wed  with  Sir  Fal- 
coner? " 

"  Ay,  though  he  bids  me  wed  with  Sir  Fal- 
coner." 

"  Alas,  if  it  be  so,  sorrow,  dear  heart,  will 


164 

be  your  portion,"  sighed  Madge.  "  But  surely 
you  are  a  weather-cock;  and  one  minute  it  is 
Sir  Falconer  and  the  next  minute  it  is  not  Sir 
Falconer.  Which  would  you  have?  " 

"Ah,  don't  hurt  me,  Madge.  I  have 
thought  upon  it,  and  well  I  see  that  disobe- 
dience will  be  only  a  firebrand  among  us. 
Better  that  I  should  be  sacrificed  than  be  an 
instrument  of  discord.  I  must  honor  my 
father  and  my  mother." 

Seeing  the  humor  of  her  young  mistress, 
and  understanding  well  that  it  sprang  from 
heart  sorrow,  Madge  deemed  it  wise  to  refrain 
from  discussion  until  the  fit  of  the  blues  had 
passed;  nor  was  it  an  opportune  moment  to 
refer  to  Manners,  as  she  intended,  so  she  with- 
held the  news  she  had  been  dying  to  impart, 
and  busied  herself. 

She  dressed  her  lady's  hair,  and  soothed  her. 
And,  by  tacit  agreement,  the  subject  that  lay 
nearest  their  hearts  was  tabooed.  Presently 
Sir  George  Vernon  came  to  inquire  after  the 
welfare  of  his  daughter,  and  he  was  followed 
by  Margaret,  and,  later  still,  the  Lady  Vernon 
put  in  an  appearance.  Madge  was  prudent 
enough  to  withdraw.  No  love  lay  between 
her  and  the  haughty  mistress  of  Haddon  Hall, 


and  harsh  words  to  Dorothy  might  have  set 
the  old  nurse's  tongue  a-wagging,  and  so  have 
led  to  a  rumpus. 

For  a  whole  week  Mistress  Dorothy  kept 
her  room.  Not  that  there  was  any  real  need 
to  do  so,  but  as  faithful  old  Madge  said,  it  af- 
forded her  a  holiday.  That  is  to  say,  she  was 
free  for  the  time  being  from  "  punishment 
tasks  "  and  nagging.  She  found  much  indus- 
try for  her  deft  fingers  in  embroidery  work,  or 
the  making  of  laces  for  Margaret.  And,  when 
tired  of  this,  she  amused  herself  with  her  lute, 
in  the  execution  of  which  she  was  very  skillful. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  week  an  advance  mes- 
senger reached  the  Hall  to  say  that  Sir  Fal- 
coner Bracebridge  would  arrive  on  the  mor- 
row. This  was  far  from  cheering  news  to 
Doll.  But  when  Madge  allowed  her  feelings 
to  betray  her  into  an  expression  of  irritation, 
the  "  love  bird "  checked  her,  and  said  she 
was  resolved  to  receive  her  future  lord  with  all 
gentleness  and  courtesy,  for  she  was  a  "  duti- 
ful daughter."  The  nurse  still  kept  the  news 
of  Manners'  escape  and  discovery  to  herself. 


i66 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MOVE    AND    COUNTERMOVE. 

Madge  had  kept  the  news  of  Manners'  dis- 
covery and  escape  to  herself,  as  she  was  anx- 
ious that  during  the  week  of  holiday  Dorothy 
should  have  no  cause  for  mental  distress;  but 
she  smiled  as  Doll  made  known  her  resolve  to 
fall  in  with  the  wishes  of  her  father  and  step- 
mother. With  a  sigh  full  of  meaning,  she 
said: 

"  Let  it  be  so  if  you  think  it  is  right ;  but  I 
could  wish  that  your  future  husband  were  a 
better  man.  There,  now,  rate  me  if  it  please 
you ;  but  I'll  say  my  say  though  you  thrust  me 
out  of  the  Hall  as  a  vagrant  woman." 

Dorothy  laughed,  and  fondled  Madge. 

"  It  will  be  long,  dear  nurse,  before  I  thrust 
you  out;  but  I  am  pledged  to  Sir  Falconer, 
and  must  marry  him.  That  is  plain  speaking, 
and  bars  argument." 

"  Ay,"  cried  Madge ;  "  but  since  we  are 
speaking  plainly,  answer  me  this.  Would  you 


i67 

rather  wed  sorrow  in  the  person  of  Sir  Fal- 
coner, who,  though  you  tear  out  my  tongue,  I 
will  say  it,  is  a  mealy-mouthed  hypocrite,  or 
yon  gallant  with  the  honest  eyes,  Master  John 
Manners?  " 

"  Hush,  Madge !  "  cried  Doll  half  angrily, 
and  growing  very  red  in  the  face.  "  You  must 
not  speak  of  Master  Manners,  for  has  he  not 
gone  away,  and  does  not  my  mother  hint  that 
he  may  have  gone  with  foolish  Elfrida  Wild-1 
goose?  " 

"  I  will  not  put  a  lock  upon  my  tongue  any 
longer,"  replied  the  nurse,  brisking  up  with  a 
strange  energy  that  gave  her  dimmed  eyes  an 
unusual  brightness,  "  and,  since  your  mother 
so  hints,  I  give  the  lie  to  it." 

"Madge!" 

"  Let  me  go  on,  for  I  can  disprove  her 
slander,  since  John  Manners  has  been  freed 
out  of  an  old  mill  in  Miller's  Dale,  and  was 
nearly  dead  when  they  rescued  him." 

"  Madge,  what  is  this  you  are  saying?  "  cried 
Dorothy  in  great  agitation.  "  What  means 
this  madness?  " 

"  It  is  no  madness,  but  truth,  as  God  wit- 
nesseth.  For  days  past  the  news  hath  burnt 
my  tongue,  but  I  feared  to  distress  you.  and  so 
kept  it  back." 


Doll  could  scarcely  speak,  she  was  so  agi- 
tated, but  she  managed  to  gasp  out  the  ques- 
tion: 

"How  did  you  get  this  strange  story?  " 

"  From  honest  Will  Dawson." 

"  But " 

"  I  tell  thee,  sweetheart,  there  is  no  but ;  it 
is  gospel  truth.  I  set  Will  on  to  learn  all  he 
could;  he  consulted  with  Master  Aleyne  and 
the  witch  woman  Jedaan;  they  found  him  a 
prisoner  at  the  mill,  and  they  say  the  death- 
rattles  were  already  in  his  throat.  But  they 
saved  him,  and  took  him  to  Dawson's  granny 
at  Eyham,  where  they  cured  him." 

Dorothy  was  breathless.  Her  hand  was  on 
her  bosom.  Her  sweet  face  was  very  pale  now, 
and  in  her  beautiful  eyes  tear  mi.st  showed  it- 
self. 

"  Who  put  him  in  the  mill?  "  she  asked  in  a 
low  tone,  ending  with  something  like  a  sob 
begotten  of  fear. 

"  Ah,  therein  lies  the  mystery  of  it,"  re- 
plied Madge,  shaking  her  wise,  old  head  with 
some  significance.  "  It  is  not  known  at  pres- 
ent; but  it  will  come  out,  or  Heaven's  not 
just.  It  would  appear  he  was  enticed  out  of 
his  inn  at  Darley,  and,  being  suddenly  smoth- 
ered with  a  hood,  was  lifted  to  a  horse's  back, 


xfe 

and  borne  helpless  to  Miller's  Dale,  where  he 
was  thrown  into  the  cave  beneath  the  mill. 
There  he  was  shut  up,  and  warded  by  two  cun- 
ning knaves,  one  of  whom  was  of  mighty 
strength,  and  named  himself  Hal." 

"  But  why  did  they  imprison  Master  Man- 
ners? "  asked  Dorothy,  still  breathless  and  agi- 
tated, and  looking  at  Madge  with  eager, 
searching  eyes. 

"  You  shall  judge,  my  child.  They  took  a 
letter  to  him,  and  he  was  warned  to  go  out  t)f 
Derbyshire,  and  vow  on  the  honor  of  his  name 
to  return  no  more." 

"Who  writ  the  letter?" 

"  That  is  more  mystery ;  but  it  was  written 
by  some  scurvy  knave,  for  he  did  not  sign. 
And  when  the  poor  young  gentleman  would 
not  give  his  promise  they  sought  to  terrify 
him  by  keeping  meat  and  drink  from  him  until 
he  was  like  to  die." 

"  Alas,  poor  Master  Manners !  "  sighed  Doll 
sympathetically. 

"  Ay,  poor  Master  Manners ! "  echoed 
Madge,  warming  up  to  her  subject.  "  It  is  a 
mercy  they  did  not  kill  him.  But  it  will  be 
brought  home  to  them." 

"  Who  can  have  been  guilty  of  this  out- 
rage? "  sobbed  Doll. 


170 

"  Ah,  who?  Perhaps  your  lady  mother,  who 
is  so  good  at  hints,  could  give  an  answer." 

"  Madge !  Madge !  "  screamed  Dorothy. 
"  It  cannot  be  that " 

She  hesitated  to  complete  the  sentence. 

"  That  what?  " 

"  That  Lady  Vernon  has  been  guilty  of  this 
outrage?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  so  evil  of  her  as  that," 
answered  Madge.  "  But  I  have  a  name  on 
my  tongue,  though  I  would  prefer  you  gave  it 
utterance  rather  than  me." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  between  them 
for  many  moments.  Dorothy  was  evidently 
sore  distressed,  and  laboring  under  overmas- 
tering emotion.  At  last,  in  a  tone  that  was 
only  a  note  above  a  whisper,  she  spoke  the 
name. 

"  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge?  " 

With  a  display  of  caution  that  was  alto- 
gether unusual  with  her  old  Madge  re- 
sponded : 

"  It  may  be  he,  and  it  may  not  be  he.  There 
are  those  who  know  the  truth,  and  it  may  slip 
out  when  the  time  is  ripe,  but  it  would  be  bet- 
ted to  call  no  man  rogue  lacking  the  proof." 

"  My  father  shall  see  to  this,"  said  Dorothy 
with  growing  indignation  as  she  began  to 


realize  the  cowardly  nature  of  the  outrage. 
"  I  will  go  to  him  and  lay  bare  the  whole  busi- 
ness, and  Sir  Falconer  shall  be  tested,  for 
should  he  have  been  guilty  of  this  deed  of 
wrong  I  would  rather  die  than  marry  him." 

Madge  took  her  charge  in  her  arms,  and  as 
she  kissed  the  fair,  white  forehead  and  looked 
into  the  depths  of  the  clear  blue  eyes,  reading 
therein  something  of  the  thoughts  that  were 
passing  beneath  the  wealth  of  red-gold  hair, 
she  said  in  the  peculiar  soothing  tone  she  knew 
so  well  how  to  employ : 

"  My  heart's  joy,  you  must  not  go  to  your 
father.  Put  a  seal  upon  your  lips.  Watch 
with  eye  of  hawk,  and  wait  with  Job's  pa- 
tience." 

"  But,  Madge,  it  is  my  duty." 

"  Ay,  ay ;  you  are  keen  on  duty  these  few 
days  past.  But  you  have  a  duty  to  yourself 
first.  If  you  should  make  this  business  known 
to  your  father,  and  Sir  Falconer  should  clear 
himself,  what  then?" 

"  I  see  the  point,  nurse,  but,  alas !  I  am  ter- 
ribly distressed,  for  how  can  I  think  Sir  Fal- 
coner guiltless,  and  if  he  be  guiltless  do  I  not 
wrong  him  in  my  thoughts?  " 

"  Watch  and  wait,"  crooned  Madge. 

Dorothy   nestled   closer   in   the   sheltering 


172 

arms,  with  a  little  nervous  tremor  thrilling 
her,  and,  dropping  her  long  lashes  over  her 
bright  eyes,  she  whispered  as  though  she  was 
afraid  of  even  the  walls  hearing  her: 

"  Madge,  do  you  think  that  Dawson  could 
arrange  that  I  get  speech  with  Master  Man- 
ners, for  I  would  like  to  hear  the  story  from  his 
own  lips?  " 

The  nurse  smiled  knowingly,  and  stroked 
the  bonnie  head. 

"  Ay,  I  think  so.  If  you  saw  him  he  might 
give  you  items  of  which  I  know  nothing,  for 
in  these  matters  there  are  always  many  small 
things  that  have  a  great  bearing  on  the  story, 
and  can  but  be  told  by  the  hero.  Ay,  ay,  you 
shall  see  Master  Manners,  for  if  he  be  going 
beyond  the  seas,  as  he  told  you  he  would,  it 
is  not  unseemly  that  you  should  wish  him 
God-speed." 

"  But  is  he  going  beyond  the  seas?  "  asked 
Dorothy  quickly,  as  she  looked  up  into  the 
time-grained  face  that  bent  over  her  so  fondly. 

"  Indeed,  I  know  not.  Did  he  not  tell  you 
so?" 

"  Ay." 

"  Then  he  no  doubt  spoke  the  thoughts  that 
were  in  his  mind." 


173 

"  But  why  should  he  exile  himself  ?  "  aslced 
Doll  with  a  little  whimper. 

"  That  is  his  own  business.  But  perhaps  it 
might  be  to  better  his  fortunes,  perchance  for 
blighted  love." 

"  Blighted  love !  "  echoed  Doll  in  a  far-away 
tone. 

"  Ay,  for  your  love-sick  swain  is  little  bet- 
ter than  a  moonling,  and  often  breaks  his  life 
because  of  a  hopeless  love.  It  is  bad  to  be  in 
love  and  get  no  response." 

Dorothy  remained  silent;  but  a  little  sigh 
that  escaped  her  lips  indicated  the  line  her 
thoughts  were  taking.  Madge  smiled,  and 
seemed  very  pleased  with  herself  and  yet  re- 
flection would  probably  have  convinced  her 
that  she  was  playing  a  dangerous  game  that 
had  no  possible  chance  of  success  as  it  seemed 
then,  unless  the  good-will  of  Dorothy's  pa- 
rents could  be  secured.  But  Madge  was  not 
given  much  to  reflection,  and  the  sudden  entry 
of  Lady  Vernon  into  the  room  put  reflection 
at  that  moment  out  of  the  question. 

"  I  am  glad,  Doll,  to  see  that  your  health  is 
sound  again,"  said  Lady  Vernon  in  the 
haughty  tone  she  knew  so  well  how  to  adopt. 
"  And  the  good  news  I  have  will,  I  am  sure, 
give  you  unbounded  joy.  Sir  Falconer  will 


174 

arrive  to-morrow,  and  He  will  urge  my  lord, 
your  father,  to  consent  to  an  early  union.  In- 
deed, I  see  no  reason  why  your  own  wedding 
and  Margaret's  should  not  be  celebrated  to- 
gether." 

"  But  why  such  haste,  mother? "  asked, 
Dorothy  with  a  ring  of  distress  in  her  tone. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  shameless  remark,"  cried 
the  lady  angrily,  and  opening  her  eyes  to  their 
fullest  extent.  "  Haste  indeed !  How  do  you 
make  out,  girl,  that  there  is  haste  in  the  busi- 
ness? You  have  yet  full  three  months  for 
wooing,  and  for  long  your  lover  has  waited 
your  sweet  pleasure.  Now,  there  shall  be  no 
more  delay,  since  it  is  for  your  welfare  that  Sir 
Falconer  takes  you  under  his  care.  A  stronger 
hand  than  your  father's  is  needed  now  to  hold 
you  in  check." 

An  angry  flush  leaped  into  Dorothy's  face  as 
this  thrust  was  made,  and  possibly  she  would 
have  replied  in  a  way  that  would  have  set  her 
ladyship's  pulses  dancing  had  not  a  significant 
look  from  Madge  warned  her  not  to  bandy 
words,  so  she  meekly  replied,  though  with  in- 
tentional irony  in  her  words : 

"  Your  judgment  cannot  err,  mother,  and  I, 
being  a  dutiful  daughter,  must  follow  as  you 
direct." 


175 

Failing  to  note  the  irony  of  this,  Lady  Ver- 
non  fairly  chuckled  at  what  she  considered  her 
triumph,  and,  kissing  Dorothy  coldly  on  the 
forehead,  she  took  herself  off,  much  to  Doro- 
thy's and  Madge's  relief. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

DIABOLO. 

The  morrow  came,  and  with  it  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge.  Dorothy  met  him  with  such 
graciousness  and  welcome  as  she  was  capable 
of  assuming,  for  it  was  assumption.  Inwardly 
she  shrank  from  him,  and  her  heart  was  heavy, 
for,  turn  her  eyes  which  way  she  would,  it 
seemed  to  her  then  that  there  was  no  escape 
from  this  man  unless  she  took  her  fate  in  her 
hands,  revolted  against  the  wishes  and  author- 
ity of  her  parents,  and  flatly  refused  to  marry 
Bracebridge.  That  course  presented  itself  to 
her  as  such  a  terrible  alternative  that  in  the 
frame  of  mind  by  which  she  was  then  influ- 
enced she  dare  not  entertain  it.  Moreover, 
since  the  previous  evening,  she  had  reflected 
deeply,  and  asked  herself  over  and  over  again 
whether  she  was  not  unduly  prejudiced  against 
this  man.  At  any  rate,  she  tried  to  believe  she 
was,  and  though  she  was  painfully  conscious 
that  she  bore  him  no  love  she  resigned  herself 


with  a  sigh,  and  resolved  to  try;  and  respect 
him  at  least. 

Bracebridge  greeted  her  with  an  effusive- 
ness that  struck  her  as  being  forced,  and  she 
noticed  that  his  face  wore  an  unusual  expres- 
sion of  anxiety.  He  also  showed  this  anxiety 
in  the  way  in  which  he  asked  her  if  she  had 
no  news  to  give  him,  and  how  she  had  passed 
her  time  during  his  absence.  And  while  he 
questioned  her  he  scanned  her  face  with  an 
eager  glance,  which  led  her  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  holding  something  from  her.  She 
therefore  hastened  to  question.  She  begged 
to  have  particulars  of  his  journey,  to  know 
whom  he  had  met  in  London,  and  the  business 
that  had  taken  him  there. 

He  answered  her  questions  evasively,  and 
this  was  too  apparent  to  escape  her  observa- 
tion, although  she  did  not  outwardly  indicate 
that  she  disbelieved  him.  She  felt  perfectly 
convinced,  however,  that  he  was  juggling  with 
the  truth,  and  in  some  way  deceiving  her.  At 
last  he  turned  the  conversation  into  an  entire- 
ly fresh  channel  by  suddenly  exclaiming: 

"  By  the  way,  Doll,  I  have  a  surprise  for 
you.  I  have  brought  you  a  present  from  Lon- 
don." 

"  A  present !  " 


178 

"  Ay ;  a  live  one."  So  saying,  he  put  a  sil- 
ver whistle  that  hung  by  a  chain  round  his 
neck  to  his  lips,  and  blew  a  shrill  blast.  In- 
stantly the  door  was  flung  open,  and  there 
rolled  into  the  room  like  a  ball  an  extraordi- 
nary creature.  The  head  was  tucked  between 
the  legs,  the  feet  were  over  the  shoulders,  the 
hands  grasping  the  thighs,  and  thus  doubled 
up  it  rolled  over  and  over,  until  it  gained  the 
center  of  the  room,  where  with  marvelous  agil- 
ity it  straightened  itself  out,  assumed  an  erect 
posture,  and  Dorothy  beheld  a  manikin  so 
grotesque,  so  monkey-like,  that  a  thrill  of  ter- 
ror ran  through  her. 

The  dwarf  was  only  a  little  over  three  feet 
in  height,  but  he  had  ponderous  shoulders, 
long,  pendulous  arms,  with  great  flapper-like 
hands,  short  knotted  legs,  and  splay  feet.  The 
top  part  of  his  skull  was  relatively  enormous, 
and  covered  with  a  mass  of  matted,  curly  red 
hair.  The  eyes  were  small  and  deep,  set  under 
pent  house  brows.  The  ears  were  twice  the 
size  of  ordinary  ears,  and  curled  over  at  the 
top.  The  nose  was  without  any  apparent 
bridge;  the  mouth  cavernous,  and  filled  with 
perfectly  even  and  dazzling  white  teeth.  The 
whole  of  this  extraordinary  being's  face  was 
covered  with  a  short  reddish  sort  of  down.  He 


179 

was  fantastically  dressed.  His  contorted  lower 
limbs  were  clothed  in  yellow  stockings,  sur- 
mounted by  trunks  of  crimson  cloth  slashed 
with  green,  while  his  doublet  was  maroon 
velvet,  the  sleeves  being  ribbed  with  white 
satin.  Round  his  neck  was  riveted  a  narrow 
band  of  gold  or  silver  gilt,  this  band  being  a 
badge  of  servitude. 

He  made  such  a  profound  bow  to  Dorothy 
that  the  top  of  his  head  almost  touched  the 
floor.  Then,  straightening  himself,  and  strik- 
ing a  grotesque  attitude,  he  said : 

"  Mademoiselle,  your  humble  servant." 

Strangely  enough,  the  voice  of  this  mal- 
formed human  being  was  soft  and  musical,  but 
the  small  eyes  that  gleamed  under  the  knitted, 
overhanging  brows  were  like  the  eyes  of  some 
fierce  animal.  Altogether  there  was  something 
so  uncanny  in  the  creature's  appearance  that 
Dorothy  could  not  repress  a  feeling  of  fear, 
and  drew  a  little  nearer  to  Sir  Falconer,  who 
with  a  laugh  exclaimed: 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  sweet  one ;  my  manikin 
is  as  gentle  as  a  dove,  as  harmless  as  a  fawn." 

The  contrast  was  so  ludicrous  that  Dorothy 
broke  into  a  laugh,  whereupon  the  dwarf  threw 
a  double  somersault,  and  then  walked  the 
whole  length  of  the  room  on  his  hands. 


:8o 

"  And,  pray,  sir,"  asked  Dorothy,  turning 
to  Bracebridge,  "  where  did  you  get  that 
strange  being  from?  " 

"  Come  here,"  cried  Bracebridge  command- 
ingly.  With  a  hop  and  a  skip  the  dwarf  stood 
before  Dorothy,  and  bowed.  "  Tell  this  lady 
who  you  are  and  how  I  became  possessed  of 
you." 

"  At  your  service,  monsieur  et  mademoi- 
selle." This  with  another  profound  bow.  "  I 
am  from  France,  ze  beautiful  France.  I  was 
born  at  Corbigny,  in  the  province  of  Nievre. 
My  mozer  and  my  fazer,  zey  did  make  burn  ze 
charcoal,  and  vas  ver  poor,  and  drink  mooch 
vine  for  comfort.  Zey  did  sell  me  to  one  Mon- 
sieur Bianco,  who  travel  with  a  troupe  of  joug- 
leurs,  mummers,  and  acrobats,  and  he  did 
bring  me  to  zis  great  nation,  so  that  I  make 
sport  for  ze  English  people.  Zis  grand  lord  he 
did  see  me  in  ze  booth  at  London,  and  did  buy 
me  from  my  master.  I  am  my  lord's  slave,  and 
mademoiselle's  dog."  At  this  he  imitated  the 
barking  and  yelping  of  various  dogs,  spread 
out  his  hands,  threw  a  somersault,  sat  down, 
tied  his  legs  round  his  neck,  and  grinned  like 
a  gargoyle  until  at  a  sign  from  his  master  he 
assumed  the  upright  position  again. 

"  And  what  do  they  call  you?  "  asked  Doro- 


thy  timidly,  as  she  looked  furtively  at  the  mis- 
shapen but  agile  elf. 

"  An  it  please  you,  lady  fair,  I  am  known  as 
Diabolo  the  Dwarf,  jougler,  mummer,  acrobat, 
and  musician,  a  votre  service.  I  can  imitate 
all  ze  animals  and  ze  birds.  I  sing,  oh,  di- 
vinely, and  I  dance  like  ze,  like  ze,  what  do 
you  call  zat — ah,  ze  sylphs.  When  I  sing  all 
ze  people  hold  ze  breath.  It  is  grand,  oh, 
so  grand!  Listen."  He  snatched  up  a  lute 
that  lay  upon  the  table,  and,  striking  a  few 
preliminary  chords,  he  trilled  a  little  ballad 
with  extraordinary  grace  and  feeling,  and  in  a 
voice  that  was  bell-like  and  mellow.  When 
he  had  finished  he  bowed  low  again,  and,  lay- 
ing one  of  his  ungainly  hands  over  his  heart, 
he  said :  "  I  am  yours  to  command,  mademoi- 
selle. I  make  you  mooch  merriment,  so  zat 
you  laugh  until  your  ribs  zey  crack." 

"  But,  in  truth,  Monsieur  Diabolo,"  replied 
Doll,  "  it  would  be  a  calamity  were  my  ribs  to 
crack." 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  Diabolo,  "  when  zey  crack 
with  laughter  it  is  good,  ver  good." 

"  Indeed  he  is  a  merry  manikin,"  added 
Bracebridge  as  he  dismissed  the  dwarf  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand.  As  Diabolo  retired  he  exe- 
cuted a  dance  so  irresistibly  funny  that  Doro- 


182 

thy  roared  with  laughter,  and  a  strange  ex- 
pression of  satisfaction  spread  itself  over  Brace- 
bridge's  face. 

"  And  what  think  you  of  my  purchase?  ''  he 
asked. 

"  A  most  remarkable  being,  indeed,  with  a 
wonderful  voice  that  is  a  strange  contrast  to 
his  misshapen  body.  But  oh,  Sir  Falconer,  I 
do  not  like  his  eyes.  They  glitter  with  a  cruel 
light,  and  I  am  sure  he  is  capable " 

"  Tut,  tut,"  broke  in  Bracebridge  with  a 
peevish  intonation.  "  He  is  absolutely  with- 
out guile,  and  so  sensitive  that  if  you  but  chide 
him  lightly  he  weeps  as  if  his  heart  would 
break." 

"  Then  his  eyes  belie  him,"  persisted  Doro- 
thy. 

"  Truly  am  I  unfortunate,  sweet  mistress," 
said  Sir  Falconer  with  a  show  of  irritation, 
"  since  I  fail  to  please  you.  I  thought  that  this 
dwarf  would  afford  you  much  amusement." 

"  Ah,  forgive  me,"  sighed  Dorothy,  seeing 
that  Sir  Falconer  was  vexed.  "  It  is  foolish 
of  me  to  be  prejudiced.  I  will  try  to  like  your 
dwarf,  and  perchance  Monsieur  Diabolo  and  I 
will  become  good  friends." 

"  Well  spoken,  my  lady,"  cried  Bracebridge. 
"  That  is  as  it  should  be,  and  I  am  sure  that 


this  misshapen  sprite  will  be  as  faithful  as  a 
hound."  He  smiled;  it  was  a  smile  full  of 
meaning,  and,  bending  down,  he  kissed  her, 
though  the  touch  of  his  lips  rather  caused  her 
to  shrink  from  him.  He  gave  her  no  indica- 
tion that  he  noticed  this,  and,  handing  her  her 
lute,  he  begged  her  to  sing  to  him,  a  request 
she  complied  with.  Strangely  enough,  how- 
ever, the  ugly  face  of  Diabolo  haunted  her,  un- 
til she  became  so  nervous  that  she  pleaded  a 
headache,  and,  begging  to  be  excused,  fled 
from  the  room. 

For  some  minutes  afterward  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge  paced  up  and  down  in  an  agitated 
way,  and  his  brow  was  darkened  with  a  frown. 
At  last,  as  he  struck  his  right  fist  against  the 
palm  of  his  left  hand  as  if  to  give  emphasis  to 
his  words,  he  muttered: 

"  You  are  clever,  Mistress  Dorothy,  but  not 
clever  enough  to  deceive  me,  and  in  the  game 
we  are  playing  I'll  wager  I'll  come  off  the  win- 
ner. You  like  not  my  dwarf,  eh?  Well,  we'll 
see " 

His  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  Lady  Vernon,  who  seemed  greatly 
surprised  to  find  him  alone.  He  said  that 
Dorothy  had  been  seized  with  a  headache,  and 
had  retired.  Lady  Vernon  frowned,  and  ex- 


184 

pressed  an  opinion  that  her  stepdaughter  found 
it  convenient  to  have  a  headache  at  times. 

"  The  fact  is,"  pursued  the  lady,  "  the  girl 
is  willful,  and  likes  too  much  of  her  own  way. 
This  failing  must  be  checked.  It  can  be  done 
with  firmness,  and  it  is  to  her  interest  and  the 
interest  of  us  all  that  this  should  be  done." 

"  Truly  so,"  answered  Bracebridge  with 
thoughtful  mien.  "  But  much  tact  is  required, 
lest  the  very  willfulness  you  speak  of  should 
cause  her  to  break  away  from  all  restraint." 

"  Surely  she  would  hardly  dare  do  that,'* 
cried  Lady  Vernon  sharply. 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  rely  upon  her  not  daring. 
She  does  not  want  for  spirit,  and  might  dare  a 
good  many  things.  Now,  there  is  one  question 
I  should  like  to  ask  you,  my  Lady  Vernon. 
Do  you  think  that  Doll's  thoughts  still  run 
upon  John  Manners?  " 

"  I  really  don't  know  what  to  say,"  an- 
swered the  lady  after  a  reflective  pause.  "  Of 
course,  you  know  that  this  Manners  suddenly 
disappeared  from  Darley  at  the  same  time  that 
Elfrida  Wildgoose,  the  pretty  daughter  of 
Farmer  Wildgoose,  went  off?  " 

A  strange  expression  flitted  across  Brace- 
bridge's  face  as  he  asked  quickly: 


"  Is  it  believed,  then,  that  the  two  have  gone 
off  together?  " 

"  It  seems  so." 

"  And  does  Dorothy  believe  it?  " 

"  I  talked  to  her,  and  told  her  the  rumors, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  she  was  impressed." 

"  Perhaps,"  began  Bracebridge  with  a  cer- 
tain hesitancy,  and  glancing  furtively  at  the 
lady's  face,  "  perhaps  it  might  be  of  advantage 
to  foster  this  belief  in  her  mind,  for  nothing 
could  tend  to  disillusionize  her  with  regard  to 
Manners  so  effectually  as  for  her  to  think  t'he 
fellow  had  gone  off  with  a  plebeian's  daugh- 
ter." 

"  True ;  but  if  we  could  get  actual  proof  that 
that  was  so  it  would  fill  her  with  such  a  sense 
of  disgust  that  you  would,  I  am  sure,  have  no 
further  trouble." 

"  The  proof  must  be  sought  for,  my  lady," 
said  Falconer,  looking  much  concerned. 

"  Get  proof  by  all  means  if  it  can  be  got. 
But,  after  all,  is  it  worth  while  concerning  our- 
selves about  this  John  Manners.  He  will  come 
here  no  more,  and  what  chance  has  Dorothy  of 
communicating  with  him?  But  even  if  she 
could  do  so,  I  am  fain  to  believe  that  she  would 
not  so  far  forget  her  dignity  and  the  honor  of 
her  house  as  to  practice  deception.  No,  no, 


i86 

with  all  her  faults  she  is  too  high-minded  for 
that." 

Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  did  not  attempt  to 
negative  this  assertion,  but  there  was  a  pecul- 
iar shifty  look  in  his  eyes,  a  look  that  said  as 
plainly  as  words  that  his  thoughts  were  not  the 
thoughts  of  Lady  Vernon.  He  turned  the  drift 
of  the  conversation,  however,  by  asking  some 
questions  bearing  upon  Margaret's  approach- 
ing marriage,  and  having  pretty  well  exhausted 
that  subject  he  came  back  once  more  to  his  re- 
lations with  Dorothy,  and  set  forth  his  own 
view  that  it  was  desirable  in  more  senses  than 
one  that  there  should  be  a  formal  betrothal  be- 
tween them,  and  that  their  union  should  not 
be  delayed  a  day  longer  than  necessary.  On 
this  point  her  ladyship  quite  agreed  with  him, 
and  she  promised  to  do  everything  in  her 
power  to  bring  about  a  consummation  of  his 
desires. 


187 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE    MEETING    AT   THE    HAZEL    COPSE. 

The  truly  remarkable  dwarf  that  Sir  Fal- 
coner brought  to  the  Hall  proved  to  be  a  par- 
ticularly amusing  elf,  being  quick  at  repartee, 
full  of  quips  and  cranks,  and  exceedingly  clever 
both  as  a  juggler  and  an  acrobat.  As  a  mu- 
sician, too,  he  could  have  held  his  own  with 
r  good  many,  while  the  sweetness  of  his  voice 
astounded  all  who  heard  him  sing.  As  might 
be  supposed,  he  soon  ingratiated  himself  with 
the  household,  though  Dorothy  herself,  as  well 
as  old  Madge,  regarded  him  with  unconquer- 
able repugnance.Diabolo,  of  course,  must  have 
been  aware  of  this ;  but  did  everything  he  could 
to  make  himself  agreeable  to  both  of  them. 
He  paid  Doll  the  most  flattering  compliments. 
He  composed  ballads  in  favor  of  her  hair,  her 
eyes,  and  her  beauty,  and  he  was  never  tired  of 
assuring  her  that  he  was  her  slave,  her  dog. 
But  while  his  antics  and  his  wit  made  her 
laugh,  she  could  not  get  over  the  feeling  of 


1 88 

dislike  and  mistrust  with  which  he  inspired 
her. 

A  fortnight  passed,  and  there  was  scarcely  a 
day  that  Sir  Falconer  did  not  plead  to  Dorothy 
to  consent  to  a  betrothal,  and  urge  her  father 
to  allow  the  marriage  to  take  place,  either  at 
the  same  time  as  Margaret's  or  very  soon  after. 
She,  on  her  part,  argued  against  hastiness.  She 
reminded  him  that  they  were  both  young,  and 
could  afford  to  wait,  and  that  she  wished  to 
preserve  her  freedom  for  some  time  longer. 
Needless  to  say,  this  did  not  please  him;  but 
he  recognized  that  she  had  a  will,  and  it  would 
not  be  wise  to  too  stoutly  oppose  it.  But  he 
was  troubled.  He  seemed  to  have  something 
on  his  mind,  and  at  last  suddenly  announced 
that  affairs  of  moment  called  him  away;  but, 
beyond  saying  that  he  was  going  into  Lanca- 
shire, he  volunteered  no  further  information. 
A  little  while  before  his  departure  he  sum- 
moned his  dwarf  Diabolo  to  him,  and,  in  pres- 
ence of  Dorothy,  told  him  that  he  should  leave 
him  behind,  and  he  charged  him  to  be  as  faith- 
ful as  her  shadow  to  the  lady,  to  obey  her 
lightest  wish,  and  devote  all  his  energies  to 
amusing  her. 

Diabolo  bowed  to  the  ground,  and,  in  his 
broken  English,  vowed  that  his  faithfulness 


should  surpass  anything  that  had  ever  been 
heard  of,  and  that  if  "  ze  gracious  Mademoi- 
selle liked  to  command  his  life  it  was  at  her 
service." 

The  gracious  mademoiselle  told  him  that  she 
did  not  desire  his  life;  and,  much  as  she  ap- 
preciated his  devotion,  she  thought  his  duty 
lay  with  his  master,  with  whom  he  had  better 
depart.  To  this  Bracebridge  said  he  had 
brought  the  dwarf  to  Haddon  for  no  other  pur- 
pose than  to  amuse  her,  and  if  he  failed  to  do 
that  he  could  go  about  his  business;  at  any- 
rate,  it  was  not  convenient  for  him  to  take  him 
with  him  into  Lancashire.  So  Diabolo  re- 
mained, and  Sir  Falconer  set  forth,  accom- 
panied by  his  squire  and  his  body  servant ;  and 
when  Dorothy  saw  him  disappear  in  the  woods 
through  which  the  approach  to  the  residence 
ran  she  experienced  a  sense  of  relief  as  if  a  load 
had  been  lifted  from  her  mind,  and  later  in  the 
day  she  joyfully  joined  her  father,  who  rode 
out  with  his  falconers  to  try  some  new  hawks 
he  had  had  sent  to  him  from  France. 

It  was  late  before  the  party  returned;  and, 
as  it  was  close  onto  the  hour  of  the  evening 
meal,  Dorothy  flew  to  her  room  to  change  her 
dress.  She  was  red  in  the  face  and  excited. 

"  Madge,  Madge !  "  she  cried,  "  what  do  you 


IQO 

think?  As  we  rode  through  the  upper  rookery 
we  came  upon  Will  Dawson  and  his  men  busy 
cutting  up  the  huge  fir  that  was  laid  low  in  the 
last  gale,  and  among  his  men  was  one  who 
bore  a  striking  likeness  to  John  Manners.  In- 
deed, I  could  almost  have  sworn  at  first  that 
it  was  none  other  than  Manners  himself ;  but  I 
knew  it  could  not  be  possible.  And  yet, 
Madge,  the  fellow  stared  at  me  with  all  his  eyes 
until  I  was  nearly  tempted  into  chiding  him." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Madge,  "  you  see  that  even  a 
bumpkin  of  a  woodcutter  is  fascinated  with 
your  beauty." 

"  Oh !  cease  this  flattery,"  cried  Doll,  with 
something  like  real  anger. 

"  No,  I  will  not  cease,  and  may  Satan  run 
away  with  me  if  I  cease  to  speak  the  truth," 
answered  Madge  loftily.  "  Would  you  have 
me  call  you  ugly?  I  say  again  that  your 
beauty  throws  a  spell  even  over  a  bumpkin. 
Now,  then,  my  ladybird,  rate  your  poor  old 
nurse;  she  does  not  care.  Perhaps  it  would 
please  you  to  beat  her.  I  will  fetch  a  stick; 
but  when  you  have  cracked  every  bone  in  my 
body  I  will  still  cry  if  you  do  but  leave  breath 
enough,  you  are  beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful." 

Dorothy  was  highly  amused ;  and,  throwing 


IQI  < 

her  arms  about  the  nurse's  neck,  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"  You  dear,  silly  old  tease.  Why  will  you 
rave  so  about  my  beauty." 

"  I  only  repeat  what  your  mirror  tells  you 
every  time  those  blue  eyes  look  into  it." 

Dorothy  put  her  hand  over  the  old  woman's 
mouth. 

"  There,  now,  you  are  gagged,"  she  said 
laughingly.  "  But,  Madge,  do  be  sensible. 
Now,  is  it  not  strange  that  Will  Dawson  should 
have  a  laborer  so  like  Manners  that  if  he  were 
dressed  better  he  would  pass  for  him?  " 

"  Ay,  it  is  a  marvel,  but  if  you  will  promise 
not  to  rate  me  more  for  telling  you  that  you 
are  beautiful  I'll  give  you  a  bit  of  news." 

"  There,  I  promise.  Now,  what's  the  news? 
Quick,  quick,  I  say.  I  am  all  ears." 

"  Can  you  not  guess?  " 

"  No — yes."  Dorothy  caught  her  breath, 
and  she  fixed  the  old  woman  with  her  eyes. 
"  The  man  I  have  seen  to-day  working  as  a 
laborer  is  John  Manners." 

"  A  good  guess,"  smiled  Madge. 

"  What  does  it  mean?  "  asked  Dorothy  with 
breathless  eagerness. 

"  I  have  held  the  news  from  you  up  to  this 
moment,  dear  lamb,"  said  Madge,  "but  it  is 


true  that  the  man  you  have  seen  is  Manners." 

"  What  is  he  doing  in  such  a  position," 
gasped  Dorothy. 

"  He  labors  like  the  rest  of  them." 

"  But  why?  " 

"  That  he  may  see  you  and  speak  to  you  be- 
fore he  goes  beyond  the  seas  for  ever." 

"  Oh,  Madge,  but  this  is  folly  indeed,"  cried 
the  poor  girl  in  real  distress.  "  Think  of  the 
risk  he  runs.  Think  what  would  happen  if  Sir 
Falconer  should  discover  him." 

"  Men  have  run  greater  risks  for  the  love  of 
women,"  Madge  replied. 

"  But,  Madge,  how  do  you  know  that  this 
John  Manners  loves  me?  " 

"  By  many  signs,  dear  one.  Now,  question 
not,  but  take  it  from  me  that  Master  Manners 
is  breaking  his  heart  about  you." 

Dorothy  was  so  surprised,  so  overcome  by 
the  revelation,  that  she  held  her  peace  while 
Madge  arranged  her  hair  for  her.  But  just 
before  leaving  the  room  to  join  the  family  at 
dinner  Dorothy  said : 

"  Poor  Master  Manners !  It  would  be  a  pity 
if  his  heart  should  break." 

"  Send  him  a  message,  then." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  say?  " 


193 

"  Tell  him  he  shall  have  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  you." 

"  Yes  " — after  a  pause — "  you  may  tell  him 
that." 

Dorothy  sat  next  to  her  father  at  the  dinner 
table,  and  he  talked  much  of  the  day's  exploits, 
and  of  the  merits  of  the  new  hawks,  frequent- 
ly turning  to  her  for  confirmation  of  some- 
thing he  had  said,  or  for  her  opinion.  But  she 
was  very  absent-minded,  and  occasionally  an- 
swered yes  when  she  should  have  said  no ;  and 
glad  she  was  when  the  meal  was  ended  and 
she  was  able  to  get  to  her  room. 

Two  days  of  suspense  passed,  and  on  the 
third  morning  Madge  whispered  to  her  that  at 
twelve  of  the  clock  John  Manners  would  be 
found  by  the  gate  of  the  hazel  copse.  The 
hazel  copse  was  a  plantation  of  hazels  grown 
for  the  sake  of  their  nuts.  It  was  about  three 
miles  from  the  house,  in  a  lonely  situation. 
For  a  little  while  Dorothy  struggled  with  her- 
self. She  would  go  and  she  wouldn't.  It  was 
right  and  it  was  wrong.  She  owed  it  to  Man- 
ners to  see  him  once  again,  as  she  had  prom- 
ised, and  she  owed  it  to  herself  and  her  family 
to  do  nothing  of  which  she  might  be  ashamed. 

The  end  of  it  all  was  that  she  decided  to  go, 
and,  telling  Madge  to  prepare  herself,  she  spent 


104 

a  little  time  with  her  father  assisting  him  to 
check  some  accounts,  and  when  her  task  was 
finished  she  slipped  away.  Her  own  horse  and 
Madge's  were  already  saddled  and  waiting  out- 
side of  the  big  gate  under  the  Eagle  Tower. 
Dorothy  tarried  not  a  moment.  She  was 
afraid  that  if  she  paused  to  reflect  her  courage 
would  fail  her,  and  her  purpose  would  not  be 
carried  out.  So  she  and  Madge  rode  away  at 
once. 

Dorothy  felt  that  she  was  playing  with  Fate, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  was  deceiving 
her  father.  She  tried,  however,  to  justify  her- 
self by  mentally  arguing  that  she  was  to  keep 
her  promise  to  see  Manners  once  more;  only 
once,  for  had  she  not  promised,  and  was  he  not 
going  beyond  the  seas,  and  had  he  not  suffered 
on  her  account,  and  was  it  not  perfectly  right 
that  she  should  tell  him  that  she  was  sorry  for 
him,  and  wouldn't  even  her  father  approve  of 
her  doing  what  she  had  pledged  herself  to  do? 

It  was  a  pretty  argument,  a  sophism  of 
course ;  but  it  was  as  sound  as  such  arguments 
are,  generally  speaking,  and  it  served  its  pur- 
pose for  the  time  being  as  a  conscience  salver. 

The  three  miles  to  the  hazel  copse  were  soon 
covered,  and  by  the  gate  a  man  in  the  garb  of 
a  woodman  was  standing  talking  to  another 


195 

man  similarly  dressed.  As  Doll  beheld  them 
her  heart  failed  her  for  a  moment  or  two,  and 
she  whispered  to  Madge: 

"  Let  us  turn  and  ride  home  quickly." 

"  Why?  "  asked  the  nurse  in  amazement. 

"  Because  I — I  cannot,  I — I  dare  not  speak 
to  him." 

Before  she  could  carry  out  her  intention  the 
two  men  separated  One  disappeared  in  the 
wood — that  one  was  William  Aleyne ;  the  other 
came  forward — that  one  was  John  Manners. 
Doffing  his  cap,  he  said : 

"  This  is  indeed  an  honor  you  have  done  me. 
How  can  I  express  my  appreciation  of  it?  " 

Dorothy  was  terribly  agitated,  and  her  beau- 
tiful face  was  unusually  pale. 

"  Sir,  who  was  your  companion?  "  she  asked 
in  trembling  accents,  alluding  to  the  man  who 
had  disappeared  in  the  wood. 

"  My  true,  faithful,  and  loyal  friend,  William 
Aleyne.  He,  too,  has  become  a  woodman  out 
of  the  regard  he  bears  me." 

Dorothy's  mind  was  relieved  to  some  extent. 
But  still  it  was  not  without  trepidation  that 
she  asked: 

"  Did — did  your  friend  know  that  a  meeting 
had  been  arranged?  " 


"  He  did,  and  he  will  give  us  warning  of  the 
approach  of  anyone." 

"  If  we  are  not  in  the  wrong,  why  should  we 
be  ashamed  of  being  seen?  "  asked  Dorothy. 

For  a  moment  Manners  was  somewhat  dis- 
concerted by  the  question,  but  at  last  he  gave 
a  fitting  answer. 

"  For  myself  it  matters  not,  sweet  lady,  but 
no  breath  of  scandal  must  tarnish  your  spot- 
less fame.  It  is  a  wicked  world,  and  there  are 
tongues  ever  ready,  with  or  without  justifica- 
tion, to  speak  evil" 

Dorothy  was  pleased  with  the  answer,  but 
she  still  felt  uneasy ;  and  she  noticed  with  alarm 
that  old  Madge  was  at  least  a  hundred  yards 
away.  Her  horse  was  feeding  on  the  succulent 
young  grass,  while  she  herself,  having  dis- 
mounted, was  making  a  posy  of  wild  flowers. 

"  I  pray  you,  sir,  summon  my  nurse,"  said 
Dorothy  anxiously. 

"And  I  pray  you  out  of  the  depths  of  my 
soul  to  let  her  remain  where  she  is  that  I  may 
speak  with  you  alone." 

"  This  is  boldness,"  she  remarked  shyly  as 
she  let  her  eyes  fall. 

"  And  who  would  not  be  bold  for  duty's 
sake " 

"Sir!" 


197 

"  Slay  me  with  your  anger  if  you  will,  but 
hear  me  first.  Behold  me  in  the  garb  of  a 
laborer.  Why  have  I  donned  it?  Because  I 
wished  to  look  once  again  on  your  dear  face, 
to  hear  your  sweet  voice  for  the  last  time." 

"  For  the  last  time,"  she  echoed  in  a  whisper, 
her  head  bent  low. 

He  was  standing  close  to  her  horse,  his  hand 
resting  on  the  front  of  the  saddle. 

"  Ay,  lady,  for  what  care  I  for  England 
now?  I  must  seek  excitement  in  some  foreign 
land.  I  must  find  a  Lethean  stream;  I  want 
forgetfulness." 

"  And  why  forgetfulness,  Master  Manners?  " 

"  I  would  forget  you." 

"  But  that  is  a  pretty  thing  to  say.  Pray, 
sir,  what  shameless  deed  have  I  done  that  you 
are  so  eager  to  forget  me?  " 

John  sighed  deeply. 

"  No  shameless  deed,"  he  answered,  with  a 
wail  in  his  tone ;  "  but  when  a  man  has  looked 
upon  that  for  which  his  heart  yearns,  but 
yearns  in  vain,  were  it  not  well  that  he  should 
try  to" forget  it?" 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  perhaps  you  are 
right,"  she  murmured  with  downcast  head. 

"  Ay,  my  Lady  Dorothy,  it  is  indeed  so.  Oh, 


why  did  Fate  ever  lead  my  steps  to  your  fath- 
er's house?  " 

"  That  seems  to  me  to  be  a  riddle,  and  I  have 
no  talent  as  a  riddle-guesser." 

Manners  grew  desperate. 

"  Mistress  Dorothy,  listen  to  me,"  he  cried. 
Since  that  fateful  night  when  I  first  set  eyes 
on  you,  and  the  morning  that  followed,  when 
you  sent  me  from  you  in  anger,  my  life  has 
undergone  a  change.  I  have  thought  of  you, 
dreamed  of  you,  and,  may  I  add,  suffered  for 
you." 

The  way  that  Dorothy's  cheeks  reddened 
showed  that  his  words  had  struck  home.  She 
cast  a  furtive  glance  at  his  pale  face,  and  noted 
his  pleading,  yearning  eyes,  and  then  with 
bashful  hesitancy  she  asked  in  all  but  inaudible 
tones,  but  they  did  not  escape  his  eager  ears: 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do?  What 
would  you  have  me  say?  " 

"  On  what  you  say  and  do  my  happiness — 
nay,  my  life,  depends." 

She  tried  to  look  steadfastly  at  him,  but 
could  not,  and  averted  her  gaze  again.  She 
was  evidently  greatly  agitated;  her  bosom 
heaved  and  fell  rapidly. 

"  Surely,  sir,"  she  said,  "  you  exaggerate  the 
position,  or  seek  to  place  an  undue  responsi- 


199 

bility  on  my  shoulders.  To  say  that  I  am  the 
arbitrator  of  your  life  and  happiness  is " 

What  she  intended  to  say  further  was  never 
uttered,  for  a  shrill  warning  whistle  rose  with 
startling  distinctness  on  the  still  air.  It  came 
from  William  Aleyne,  who  was  keeping  faith- 
ful watch  in  the  copse.  Manners  started  away 
from  Dorothy's  horse,  and,  glancing  along  the 
track,  he  fairly  held  his  breath  in  wonderment, 
for  an  extraordinary,  and  he  might  have  been 
pardoned  for  thinking,  a  supernatural  being 
was  approaching  them. 

It  was  Diabolo  the  Dwarf. 


200 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ON   THE   BRINK. 

"  What  have  we  here?  "  asked  Manners  as 
the  dwarf  approached. 

"  Hush !  "  whispered  Dorothy.  "  It  is  Sir 
Falconer's  dwarf.  I  do  not  like  him,  so  be 
cautious." 

This  warning  was  not  lost  on  John,  but  he 
had  no  time  to  question  further,  for  the  impish 
manikin  approached  rapidly,  bowing  and 
scraping.  He  was  out  of  breath.  There  was 
a  leer  on  his  ugly  face;  he  seemed  excited, 
though  he  held  himself  in  check.  As  he  made 
obeisance  to  Dorothy  he  almost  touched  the 
ground  with  his  forehead.  Then  he  straight- 
ened his  small  figure  out,  and  struck  a  comical 
attitude,  while  his  wicked  little  eyes  glanced 
furtively  at  Manners,  and  from  Manners  back 
to  Dorothy  again. 

"  My  lord  and  master  bade  me  guard  you 
as  if  I  were  your  shadow,"  he  said,  "  but  you 
set  off  into  the  woods  without  me,  and  I  have 


2OI 

sped  after  you,  mademoiselle,  with  such  haste 
that  my  bellows  he  have  no  more  wind,  and 
my  heart  he  go  pit-a-pat  with  mooch  quick- 
ness." 

"  And,  pray,  sir,"  asked  Dorothy  loftily, 
"  since  you  have  been  constituted  my  guard 
without  my  being  consulted,  I  should  like  to 
know  the  nature  of  the  danger  against  which 
you  are  to  guard  me?  " 

"  Zey  are  many,"  answered  Diabolo  with  a 
grin.  "Zere  are  ze  wood  demons,  and  ze  mis- 
chievous sprites  zat  bewitch  maidens,  and  ze 
dragons " 

"  Cease  this  silly  chatter,"  cried  Dorothy 
with  such  warmth  that  the  dwarf  seemed  as- 
tonished ;  "  and  know  this,  Master  Diabolo,  I 
neither  want  your  company  nor  your  guardian- 
ship." Then  with  great  presence  of  mind  she 
turned  to  Manners,  who  stood  apart,  some- 
what puzzled  how  to  act,  and,  addressing  him 
with  assumed  haughtiness,  said :  "  Your  peti- 
tion, fellow,  shall  have  consideration,  but  I 
can  make  no  promise  that  my  father  will  grant 
your  request." 

This  was  clever,  and  Manners  immediately 
gathered  the  import  of  it,  and  as  he  made  a 
low  bow  he  said : 


202 

"  I  beseech  you,  lady,  not  to  forget  me." 
They  exchanged  glances,  and  he  walked  away. 

"  Yon  woodman  has  fine  hands,"  remarked 
Diabolo,  "  and  has  taken  much  care  of  his  com- 
plexion." 

Madge,  who  had  come  up  leading  her  horse, 
and  understood  the  situation,  replied  to  the 
dwarf  banteringly: 

"  You  have  a  pretty  wit,  master  dwarf,  for 
so  misshapen  a  body,  and,  though  you  are  not 
handsome,  your  own  complexion  might  be  im- 
proved. Now,  since  you  have  come  as  a  stran- 
ger to  our  Haddon,  I  should  like  to  know  what 
a  woodman's  complexion  or  his  hands  have  got 
to  do  with  you?  " 

"  Nozing,"  replied  the  dwarf  with  a  merry 
laugh ;  "  but  it  is  not  a  wicked  zing  to  make 
a  remark  even  in  your  Haddon,  eh?  " 

"  No ;  the  wickedness  is  in  yourself,  my  small 
image." 

Diabolo  laughed  again.  Then  he  turned  a 
somersault,  and  danced  a  few  steps,  and  was  so 
irresistibly  funny  that  Dorothy  and  Madge 
could  not  restrain  their  laughter.  Finally  he 
made  a  step  of  his  hands  by  joining  them  to- 
gether to  enable  Madge  to  mount  her  horse. 
She  accepted  his  assistance,  and  when  she  was 
seated  he  caught  hold  of  the  horse's  tail,  and 


203 

vaulted  with  astounding  agility  behind  her. 
She  protested,  called  him  a  toad,  and  ordered 
him  to  dismount  at  once,  but  he  only  laughed 
and  made  jokes,  said  that  his  small  body  ached, 
and  that  her  nag  was  powerful  enough  to  carry 
his  trifling  additional  weight.  She  was  per- 
force compelled  to  ride  with  himi  behind  her 
until  the  towers  of  Haddon  Hall  came  in  view, 
when  he  slipped  off,  and  ran  before  to  the  great 
gateway. 

Dorothy  was  exceedingly  annoyed,  and 
when  she  reached  her  room  she  complained  bit- 
terly to  Madge  of  Bracebridge's  dastardly  con- 
duct in  placing  a  spy  over  her  actions,  for  she 
could  no  longer  doubt  that  Diabolo  had  been 
brought  there  as  a  spy,  and  in  spite  of  his  ec- 
centric oddities,  his  humor  and  merriment,  he 
was  dangerous.  Doll  declared  her  intention  of 
going  at  once  to  her  father  and  making  a 
strong  complaint.  But  against  this  shrewd  old 
Madge  set  her  face.  She  pointed  out  that  if 
she  did  that  it  might  lead  to  Manners  being 
discovered.  For  was  it  not  evident  from 
Diabolo's  remark  about  the  fine  hands  and 
complexion  of  the  pseudo  forester  that  he  sus- 
pected him?  So  Doll  perforce  restrained  her 
feelings,  but  her  dislike  of  Bracebridge  was  in- 
creased, and  she  resolved  that  when  he  re- 


204 

turned  she  would  insist  on  his  sending  the 
dwarf  away. 

Of  course,  she  was  greatly  disappointed  that 
her  conversation  with  Manners  had  been  inter- 
rupted, as  she  intended  to  have  questioned  him 
about  his  abduction  and  imprisonment,  for 
naturally  she  was  anxious  to  find  out  if  it  were 
possible  if  Bracebridge  was  responsible  for  the 
imprisonment.  She  had  no  doubt  in  her  own 
mind  that  he  was,  but  the  thing  was  to  get  in- 
contestable proof,  though  even  if  she  succeeded 
in  doing  that,  would  he  not  endeavor  to  justify, 
his  action  in  every  way? 

And  should  it  come  out,  as  in  all  probability 
it  would  do,  that  Manners  was  lurking  in  the 
woods  disguised  as  a  forester,  no  end  of  trouble 
would  arise,  and  Manners  himself  would  be 
disgraced.  It  follows  that  had  she  not  felt 
deeply  interested  in  John  Manners  his  discov- 
ery would  have  given  her  no  concern.  But 
she  made  no  attempt  now  to  disguise  the  fact 
from  herself  that  he  not  only  bulked  very 
prominently  in  her  thoughts,  but  she  had  so  far 
fallen  under  his  spell  that  she  was  possessed  of 
a  feverish  anxiety  to  see  him  again.  It  is 
highly  probable  that  at  this  stage  she  would 
hardly  have  confessed  to  being  in  love  with 


205 

him,  but  she  stood  on  the  brink,  as  it  were, 
and  very  little  was  needed  to  draw  her  for- 
ward. 

The  day  following  that  memorable  meeting 
at  the  hazel  copse  Lady  Vernon  took  her  to 
task  for  riding  about  in  the  woods  with  only, 
Madge  as  an  attendant,  and  from  trie  tone  and 
manner  of  her  Ladyship  it  was  pretty  clear 
that  she  had  received  certain  information  from 
Diabolo.  Now,  there  were  times  when  Doro- 
thy Vernon  could  express  herself  with  great 
spirit,  and  on  this  occasion  her  indignation  was 
so  strong  that  she  spake  her  mind  somewhat 
freely.  She  could  not  understand,  she  said, 
what  harm  or  danger  was  likely  to  arise  be- 
cause she  rode  with  her  faithful  nurse  over  her 
father's  private  land. 

"  But  you  have  never  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing  so  until  lately,"  urged  the  lady  mother. 

"  But  you  forget,  Madam,  that  I  am  no 
longer  a  child,"  answered  Dorothy. 

This  provoked  the  lady  to  ironical  laughter, 
and  she  said  some  harsh  things,  the  tendency 
of  which  were  that  she  considered  it  bad  taste 
on  Dorothy's  part,  as  well  as  undutiful,  to  lay 
claim  to  womanhood  yet  awhile. 

"  And  yet  you  consider  me  old  enough  to 


2O6 

marry  Sir  Falconer,"  retorted  Dorothy.  This 
did  not  advantage  her  much,  however,  as  the 
Lady  Matilda  said  that  Sir  Falconer  would 
afford  the  very  protection  that  was  so  much 
needed. 

Dorothy  after  this  held  her  peace.  She  felt 
that  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  prolonging 
the  discussion.  Lady  Vernon  was  a  woman  of 
strong  opinions,  and  was  so  fixed  in  her  ideas 
that  no  amount  of  argument  could  move  her. 
Had  she  been  less  puffed  up  with  a  sense  of  her 
own  infallibility  she  would  have  gained  an  in- 
finitely stronger  hold  on  the  regard  of  those 
around  her,  for  she  had  many  good  qualities, 
but  she  liked  to  rule  supreme,  and  could  not 
brook  contradiction. 

As  Dorothy  Vernon  sat  in  her  chamber  that 
evening,  and  pondered  over  the  events  of  the 
day,  her  indignation  knew  no  bounds  as  she 
thought  of  Diabolo  having  been  brought  into 
the  household  as  a  spy  upon  her  movements, 
nor  did  the  conduct  of  her  stepmother  tend  to 
modify  that  indignation.  And,  needless  to  say, 
she  felt  very  unhappy,  for  the  prospect  of  her 
coming  marriage  with  Bracebridge  filled  her 
with  alarm.  But  one  thing  she  resolved  upon, 
and  that  was  to  see  John  Manners  again,  what- 


207 

ever  the  consequences  might  be,  and,  having 
made  this  known  to  Madge,  the  old  woman  de- 
scended to  the  servants'  quarters  in  search  of 
Will  Dawson,  so  that  she  might  intrust  him 
with  a  message. 


208 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   TRYST. 

When  William  Aleyne  heard  that  his  friend 
Manners  was  going  to  disguise  himself  as  a 
forester,  he  declared  that  he  would  do  like- 
wise. It  was  an  adventure  that  appealed  to 
him.  There  was  romance  in  it,  and  when. 
John  pointed  out  the  discomfort  and  incon- 
venience he  would  have  to  endure,  he  laughed, 
and  said  he  did  not  desire  that  his  life  should 
be  altogether  a  bed  of  roses,  and  as  he  had  set 
out  with  his  friend  he  intended  now  to  see  him 
through  the  affair  whatever  the  end  might  be. 

Both  Manners  and  his  friend  adapted  them- 
selves admirably  to  their  surroundings,  and 
made  a  not  altogether  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
play  their  part  to  the  life.  After  that  meeting 
with  Dorothy  at  the  Hazel  Copse,  Manners 
could  no  longer  doubt  that  he  had  produced  a 
deep  impression  upon  her,  but  he  could  not 
then  bring  himself  to  believe  in  the  possibili- 
ties of  his  being  able  to  woo  and  win  her. 


209 

Moreover,  the  unexpected  appearance  of  Dia- 
bolo,  Dorothy's  note  of  warning  rendering  it 
clear  that  there  was  danger,  more  than  ordi- 
nary caution  would  be  needed  if  he  wished  to 
avoid  being  unmasked. 

In  a  subsequent  conversation  he  had  with 
Dawson,  the  worthy  head  forester  told  all  he 
knew  about  Diabolo.  It  wasn't  very  much,  and 
had  principally  been  gathered  from  Madge. 
The  dwarf  was  described  as  "  a  merry  mum- 
mer," whom  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  had 
taken  into  his  service  for  the  sake  of  the  amuse- 
ment he  was  capable  of  affording,  but  Daw- 
son  was  careful  to  make  known  that  Miss  Ver- 
non  and  the  nurse  were  suspicious  of  the  mani- 
kin, and  believed  he  had  been  introduced  into 
the  household  as  a  spy.  This  information  ex- 
plained to  John  the  reason  of  Dorothy's  con- 
fusion, and  her  warning,  when  the  ugly  little 
monkey-like  man  so  inopportunely  interrupted 
their  tete-a-tete. 

The  next  few  days  following  the  meeting 
were  dreary  and  sad  ones  to  Manners ;  sad,  be- 
cause he  was  in  such  a  state  of  uncertainty  and 
doubt.  But  then  the  cheering  intimation  was 
conveyed  to  him  by  Dawson  that  Mistress  Ver- 
non  wished  to  see  him  again  to  make  some  ex- 
planation, and  he  was  to  be  at  the  end  of  the 


210 

upper  terrace  of  the  grounds  at  an  hour  when 
darkness  would  have  set  in.  Needless  to  say 
that  Manners  repaired  to  the  rendezvous  with 
great  eagerness,  and  waited  in  palpitating  sus- 
pense until  a  light  footstep  told  him  that  she, 
for  whom  he  waited,  was  approaching. 

It  was  a  daring  thing  for  Dorothy  to  do,  but 
she  had  become  desperate  as  she  realized  the 
difficulties  that  beset  her  in  carrying  out  her 
desire  to  see  Manners  again.  And  at  last  she 
determined  to  make  a  bold  plunge,  and  under 
the  sheltering  wing  of  the  old  nurse,  met  John 
in  the  grounds  after  nightfall,  when  there 
would  be  less  risk  of  being  observed.  The 
upper  terrace  was  lonely  enough,  particularly 
at  night,  and  as  it  was  bordered  by  the  woods 
from  which  it  was  separated  by  a  low  wall  only, 
the  chances  of  a  meeting  being  disturbed  by 
unwelcome  intruders  were  remote. 

Dorothy  was  fully  alive  to  the  risks  she  ran, 
and  she  was  not  without  certain  qualms  of  con- 
science, for  should  by  any  chance  it  become 
known  that  she  had  secretly  met  John  Manners 
disguised  as  a  woodman,  and  at  night,  nothing 
she  could  say,  or  nothing  she  could  do,  would 
justify  her  act,  and  trouble  of  a  very  serious 
and  grave  nature  would  result.  She  and 
Madge  had  stolen  from  the  house  soon  after 


211 

the  evening  meal,  and  she  tried  to  persuade 
herself  that,  having  promised  Manners  she 
would  see  him  once  more,  she  was  bound  to 
keep  her  promise,  and  by  choosing  night  time 
for  the  meeting  she  was  compelled  thereto  by 
the  force  of  circumstances. 

"  You  know,  Madge,"  she  said  before  they 
left  the  house,  "  this  is  the  last  time,  I  sup- 
pose, that  I  shall  ever  see  Master  Manners,  for 
the  poor  young  man  is  going  to  some  foreign 
country,  and  I  should  not  like  him  to  depart 
bearing  me  ill-will." 

The  nurse  winked  an  eye  as  she  replied : 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  my  child,  that  this  bold 
young  man  will  think  ill  of  you.  And,  of 
course,  if  it  be  true  that  he  is  going  beyond  the 
seas,  it  will  comfort  him,  no  doubt,  to  see  you 
once  again.  But  I  would  wager  a  groat  that  it 
will  be  long  before  he  departs." 

"  But  he  told  me  he  was  going,"  cried 
Dorothy,  with  sweet  naivete. 

"  Ah,  he  is  a  wise  young  man,"  remarked 
Madge  with  another  wink  which  plainly  indi- 
cated what  she  herself  thought.  And  in  her 
case  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought.  She 
desired  to  see  her  nursling  happy,  and  she  was 
convinced  there  would  be  no  happiness  if  she 
married  Bracebridge.  And  it  seemed  to  the 


212 


old  woman  that  there  was  no  way  of  defeating 
Bracebridge  except  by  Dorothy  marrying 
somebody  else.  She  did  not  pause  to  consider 
what  this  involved;  hers  was  not  a  reflective 
nature,  but,  in  a  vague  sort  of  way,  she  had  a 
notion  that  the  end  justified  the  means. 

As  Doll  reached  the  upper  terrace,  which 
was  shaded  by  wondrous  oaks  and  yews,  and 
very  ghostly  and  drear  at  nighttime,  she  clung 
to  Madge.  The  night  wind  made  an  eerie 
melody  in  the  branches  of  the  trees,  and, 
though  the  stars  were  shining,  nothing  could 
be  discerned  save  the  silhouetted  trees,  which 
looked  like  solid  blocks  of  shadow  thrown  into 
relief  by  the  starlit  sky.  Dorothy  was  nervous 
and  agitated,  for  though  she  might  not  have 
been  able  to  analyze  her  feelings  at  that  stage 
and,  notwithstanding,  she  had  endeavored  to 
make  herself  believe  she  was  going  to  say  fare- 
well to  John  Manners,  something  told  her,  an 
instinct  if  you  like,  that  love  was  asserting  it- 
self in  her  heart  for  the  first  time. 

In  the  early  stages  of  her  acquaintance  with 
Bracebridge  she  felt  drawn  toward  him  by 
some  peculiar  fascination,  but  very  soon  she 
realized  that  she  did  not  love  him.  Manners, 
on  the  contrary,  had  awakened  in  her  an  en- 
tirely new  sensation,  and,  try  as  she  would, 


213 

she  could  not  dismiss  him  from  her  thoughts. 
Strong,  indeed,  must  have  been  the  young 
man's  influence  over  her,  when  on  that  moon- 
less night  she  could  summon  up  courage  to 
steal  forth  to  meet  him  in  secret.  Neverthe- 
less, when  she  found  herself  on  the  ghostly  ter- 
race, and  heard  the  dreary  sighing  of  the  wind 
in  the  trees,  and  the  hoarse  moan  of  the  river, 
she  was  stirred  with  apprehension  of  some 
vague  danger  that  prompted  her  to  whisper  to 
Madge. 

"  Let  us  go  back,  let  us  go  back.  I  am  do- 
ing wrong,  and  am  afraid." 

"  Of  what?  "  asked  Madge.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing here  can  harm  you,  child,  for  you  are 
clothed  in  the  armor  of  your  own  goodness 
and  virtue." 

It  was  not  often  the  aged  servitor  was  ca- 
pable of  expressing  such  a  sentiment  as  this, 
but  the  occasion,  the  hour,  and  the  solemn  sur- 
roundings drew  it  forth.  She  regarded  her 
"love  bird  "  with  so  strong  a  regard  that  she 
considered  she  was  absolutely  incapable  of  do- 
ing wrong,  and  that  very  regard  drew  from 
her  the  expression  which  might,  with  some 
truth,  be  said  to  have  sealed  Mistress  Vernon's 
fate,  for  she  faltered  no  more,  but  went  on 
bravely  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  terrace,  and, 


214 

in  a  low,  sweet  tone,  called  out :  "  Master 
Manners,  are  you  there?  " 

From  behind  the  wall,  where  he  had  been 
crouching,  up  rose  John  Manners,  and  an- 
swered : 

"  Ay,  lady,  for  though  a  thousand  fiends  had 
barred  my  way  I  would  have  kept  the  tryst." 

This  was  a  somewhat  hyperbolical  expres- 
sion, no  doubt,  but  had  Manners  sought  for 
something  more  fitting  to  indicate  the  strength 
of  the  feeling  he  entertained  for  Mistress  Ver- 
non,  he  would  have  failed  to  find  it.  For  great, 
indeed,  must  have  been  the  danger  that  would 
have  prevented  him  being  there. 

Dorothy  had  not  let  go  of  Madge's  hand, 
and  she  still  held  it,  and  the  little  tremor  of 
excitement  that  thrilled  her  made  itself  known 
to  Madge,  who  said: 

"  Why  does  your  heart  flutter  so,  my  bird? 
Master  Manners  will,  I  am  sure,  speak  but  fair 
words  to  you,  and  shield  you  from  harm  with 
his  life."  ' 

"  Ay,  that  would  I !  "  cried  John  with  eager- 
ness. 

"  Peace,  Madge,"  whispered  Dorothy ; 
"  how  foolish  you  are.  But  let  us  return,  for 
should  we  be  missed  I  dread  to  think  what  the 
consequences  will  be." 


215 

"  Now  it  is  you  who  are  foolish,"  retorted 
the  nurse.  "  You  came  to  say  farewell  to  this 
young  gentleman,  and,  though  you  have  not 
said  it,  you  talk  of  returning." 

Although  none  could  see  it,  Dorothy's  face 
was  dyed  scarlet,  and  so  confused  was  she  that 
she  was  either  not  conscious  that  Madge  had 
brought  her  hand  in  contact  with  John's,  or, 
being  conscious,  was  powerless  to  resist  it. 
But  anyway  Manners  clasped  her  hand,  not  as 
a  courtier,  but  with  the  warm,  nervous  grasp 
of  one  who  was  carried  away  by  an  excess  of 
feeling  she  could  not  control. 

"  Mistress  Vernon,"  he  whispered,  "  if  it  is 
your  purpose  to  say  farewell,  then  is  my  life 
done." 

"  But  you  told  me  you  were  going  beyond 
the  seas." 

"  Ay,  so  I  did  when  it  seemed  hopeless  for 
me  to  think  of  ever  winning  you." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  talk  like  that,"  she 
cried,  catching  her  breath,  and  trying  to  dis- 
engage her  hand,  but  he  held  it  in  both  of  his — 
held  it  gently  but  firmly. 

"  And  why  should  I  not  tell  you  now  that 
I  love  you?  " 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  murmured,  struggling 


2l6 

again,  but  he  kept  her  captive.  "  You  must 
not  love  me ;  indeed,  indeed,  you  must  not." 

"  Don't  be  cruel  to  me,"  he  pleaded.  "  No, 
cruel  you  are  not,  cruel  you  could  not  be.  And 
the  feeling  that  prompted  you  to  come  forth 
to-night  and  meet  me  here  may  surely  lead  me 
to  the  belief  that  you  do  not  regard  me  with 
disfavor.  Say  but  one  little  word  to  me  that 
will  give  me  hope ;  do  not  let  me  go  from  you 
to-night  a  lonely,  broken-hearted  man." 

"  I  would  not  have  you  lonely,  I  would  not 
have  you  broken-hearted,"  she  murmured; 
"  but  what  would  you  have  me  say?  " 

"  Say  that  you  do  not  hate  me." 

"  No,  I  do  not  hate  you.    Why  should  I?  " 

"  Ah,  how  sweet  to  hear  you  say  that !  Now, 
add  sweets  to  the  sweet  by  telling  me  I  may 
hope  that  some  day  I  shall  not  sigh  in  vain." 

She  struggled  once  more  to  free  herself,  and 
her  agitation  was  very  marked. 

"  It  is  unkind  of  you  to  keep  me  here,"  she 
said  in  a  tone  of  distress;  and  it  is  not  right 
for  you  to  talk  to  me  like  that.  Let  me  go." 

"  So  be  it,"  he  said  with  a  sob.  "  We  shall 
meet  no  more.  Farewell." 

"  No,  no,  Master  Manners,"  she  cried,  "  I — 
I  did,  did  not  quite  mean  that  you  should  go 
from  me  like  that."  He  flung  out  his  hands 


217 

again,  and  caught  hers.  "  But,  oh,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  am  sore 
distressed,  and  very,  very  unhappy." 

Madge  interposed  here.  She  had  only  with- 
drawn to  a  short  distance;  not  out  of  earshot, 
and,  though  the  dialogue  had  been  carried  on 
in  low  tones,  she  had  heard  most  of  it.  Now, 
she  understood  that  the  psychological  moment 
had  come  when  she  might  influence  matters. 

"  Master  Manners,"  she  said,  "  have  pa- 
tience, have  patience,  good  sir.  My  sweet  child 
holds  you  in  good  esteem,  else  she  had  not 
given  you  this  tryst  to-night." 

"  Ah,  thank  you,  thank  you ;  a  thousand 
thanks,"  cried  Manners  in  a  transport  of  de- 
light ;  "  but  urge  your  dear  young  mistress  to 
speak  one  word  of  comfort  to  me  out  of  her 
own  sweet  lips." 

Dorothy  fluttered  and  struggled  like  a  bird 
caught  in  a  fowler's  net;  her  heart  beat 
audibly,  and  her  temples  throbbed,  for  she  was 
laboring  under  intense,  suppressed  excitement. 
At  last  she  inclined  her  head  until  her  face 
was  almost  in  contact  with  his,  and  there  fell 
on  his  ears  these  words: 

"  John  Manners,  you  must  not  go  across  the 
seas,  but  remain  here  for  my  sake." 

She  drew  her  hand  away,  and   fled,   and 


218 

Madge  hobbled  after  as  fast  as  ever  her  old 
limbs  would  allow  her  to  go,  and  Manners,  in 
a  transport,  an  ecstasy,  of  joy,  waited  until 
there  were  no  sounds  to  be  heard  save  the  song 
of  the  river  and  the  sigh  of  the  wind.  Then 
he  turned  and  walked  through  the  night-en- 
shrouded woods,  repeating  to  himself :  "  She 
loves  me ;  she  loves  me." 


219 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

STOLEN    MEETINGS. 

That  night  was  marked  with  a  red  letter  in 
the  calendar  of  Dorothy  Vernon's  life.  How 
she  traversed  the  gloom-enshrouded  terrace; 
how  she  gained  the  house  and  reached  her 
chamber,  to  find  old  Madge  panting  and  blown 
ing  beside  her,  she  scarcely  knew.  It  was  a 
sort  of  waking  dream  in  which  everything  was 
vague.  But  one  thing  she  most  certainly  did 
know.  Love  had  called  to  her ;  love  had  whis- 
pered in  her  ears;  love  had  pierced  her  heart; 
love  had  entered  into  her  blood  like  a  fever. 
The  dawn  of  love  is  to  a  woman  a  period  of 
ecstatic  bliss.  From  that  moment  her  whole 
being  undergoes  a  change,  and  Mistress  Ver- 
non  was  passing  through  that  change.  John 
Manners  had  called  forth  from  the  depths  of 
her  womanly  nature  a  responsive  chord,  and 
she  thrilled  with  a  sensation  such  as  Brace- 
bridge  had  never  been  able  to  arouse.  With 
an  outburst  of  almost  hysterical  excitement  she 


220 

suddenly  flung  her  arms  round  Madge's  neck 
and  moaned,  "  Oh,  Madge,  what  have  I  done, 
what  have  I  done?  What  will  be  the  end  of 
this?  How  shall  I  look  my  father  in  the  face 
again?  " 

Ignorant  and  inexperienced  though  she  was, 
old  Madge  understood  perfectly  the  girl's 
state  of  mind,  and  the  conflicting  emotion  that 
was  swaying  her,  as  a  leaf  is  swayed  by  the 
wind.  She  attempted  no  argument.  She 
knew  that  argument  would  have  been  out  of 
place.  She  directed  all  her  energies  to  calm- 
ing and  soothing  the  agitated  nerves,  and 
when  the  "  love-bird  "  exclaimed  in  a  passion 
of  distress,  "  I  won't  see  him  again ;  I  won't,  I 
won't;  I  dare  not;  it  would  be  wicked,"  the 
old  woman  replied  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
way,  "  I  would  not,  dearie,  if  it  is  going  to  up- 
set you  like  this." 

But  no  one  knew  better  than  Madge  that  the 
paroxysm  would  be  of  short  duration,  and  that 
a  few  hours'  rest  would  work  wonders.  And 
it  was  so,  for  when  on  the  morrow  Dorothy 
rose  she  was  blithe  and  merry,  and  not  for  a 
long  time  had  the  sweet  face  worn  such  a  look 
of  perfect  joyousness.  But,  strangely  enough, 
she  did  not  refer  to  the  incident  of  the  previous 
evening,  and  Madge  wisely  held  her  peace. 


221 

Doll  went  off  early  with  her  father  on  a 
hawking  expedition,  and  did  not  return  until 
the  day  was  well  nigh  spent,  and  as  she  sub- 
mitted her  beautiful  tresses  to  Madge  to  be 
combed  and  braided  for  the  evening  she  said 
with  rapturous  emphasis : 

"  I  saw  him  again  to-day,  Madge,  but  not 
to  speak  to;  and,  oh,  how  he  did  devour  me 
with  his  eyes.  He  is  so  handsome  and  manly, 
and  has  such  a  noble  head." 

"  And  he  loves  you,  birdie,"  responded  old 
Madge,  very  quietly. 

Dorothy  sighed  deeply,  but  that  sigh  was 
infinitely  more  eloquent  than  words  would 
have  been,  for  it  told  too  surely  how  deeply 
the  dart  of  the  god  of  love  had  pierced  her. 
She  was  silent  for  some  time,  but  her  thoughts 
were  running  in  one  groove,  for  suddenly  she 
said,  as  if  to  herself : 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  John  Manners  loves  me," 
but  as  if  these  very  words  had  recalled  her  to 
a  full  sense  of  the  dangerous  situation  thus 
created,  she  turned  to  Madge,  saying :  "  I 
must  not  see  him  again,  Madge.  You  shall 
send  him  word  that  he  is  to  think  no  more  of 
me,  but  must  go  away." 

"  If  you  will  it  so,  so  it  shall  be,"  the  nurse 
replied  dolefully,  though  a  smile  lurked  in  the 


222 

corners  of  her  mouth,  "  but  alas,  poor  young 
gentleman,  how  he  will  suffer,  and  when  he 
passes  beyond  the  seas  his  life  will  be  a  broken 
one.  Indeed,  I  do  not  wonder  if  it  ceases  al- 
together." 

This  remark  fell  on  fruitful  soil.  Doll 
sprang  up,  and  paced  the  room  in  an  agitated 
way,  wringing  her  hands  the  while,  her  beau- 
tiful face  filled  with  an  expression  of  grave  con- 
cern. 

"  Oh,  what  am  I  to  do?  "  she  cried. 

"  Be  patient,  and  do  as  your  heart  prompts," 
murmured  the  nurse. 

"  Tis  all  very  well  to  counsel  patience,  but 
think  what  a  tangled  skein  I  am  making  of 
things.  Were  it  not  better  that  I  went  to  my 
father  and  told  him  all?  " 

"  If  you  wish  me  to  answer  that  to  the  point, 
I  say  no." 

"  But  give  me  your  reasons." 

"  Sweet  chick,  we  have  discussed  the  reasons 
over  and  over  again.  Your  father  would  take 
counsel  with  my  lady,  and  my  lady  would  be 
furious.  John  Manners  would  fare  badly,  and 
you  would  be  taken  to  task  severely,  wedded 
to  that  most  worthy  gentleman,  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge,  and  soon  after  your  poor  dear 
heart  would  be  broken.  Alas,  alas,  it  breaks 


223 

mine  to  think  of  it !  But  if  you  think  it  would 
ease  your  mind  by  all  means  go  to  your  father 
and  tell  him  everything." 

This  little  speech  did  not  tend  to  calm  Doro- 
thy's agitated  nerves.  She  felt  the  force  of 
all  the  nurse  urged,  and  she  was  conscious  of 
being  on  the  horns  of  a  dilemma,  for  John 
Manners  had  made  too  deep  an  impression  for 
her  to  be  indifferent  to  him,  and  so  long  as 
she  could  not  feel  indifference,  she  could  not 
take  a  step  that  might,  and,  indeed,  almost  cer- 
tainly would,  lead  to  trouble. 

By  a  slow  and  gradual  process  Mistress  Ver- 
non  reconciled  herself  to  what  she  was  pleased 
to  think  was  the  inevitable.  In  other  words, 
she  made  no  attempt  to  juggle  with  her  feel- 
ings and  act  as  if  she  did  not  care  for  John 
Manners,  when  she  knew  well  enough  that  she 
did. 

Day  succeeded  day,  and  yet  Bracebridge  did 
not  return.  Dorothy  was  delighted,  but  she 
knew  now  that  beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt 
Diabolo  had  been  sent  as  a  spy  over  her,  and, 
though  the  ugly  manikin  was  amusing  enough, 
and  paid  her  the  most  servile  attention,  she  de- 
tested him,  as  did  also  Madge.  To  the  rest 
of  the  household,  however,  he  was  a  source  of 
endless  delight ;  his  tricks,  his  mimicry,  his  wit, 


224 

his  singing,  his  acrobatic  feats,  and  his  con- 
stant good  humor  made  him  very  popular. 
But  to  Mistress  Vernon  he  was  a  source  of  con- 
stant annoyance,  for  if  she  was  going  out,  and 
thought  that  he  was  at  a  safe  distance,  he 
would  suddenly  bob  up  in  her  path,  as  though 
he  had  risen  through  the  earth,  dropped  from 
the  clouds,  or  come  out  of  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 
He  almost  seemed  ubiquitous,  and,  do  what 
she  could,  she  could  not  free  herself  from  his 
unwelcome  presence,  except  it  was  at  night. 
She  saw  Manners  frequently,  but  had  little  or 
no  opportunity  of  speaking  to  him.  He  kept 
up  the  role  he  was  playing  with  no  little  skill, 
and  with  exemplary  patience,  and  apparently 
it  was  never  suspected  that  this  humbly  garbed 
woodman  was  the  son  of  an  earl  and  the  lover 
of  the  beauteous  Dorothy  Vernon.  But  lovers 
they  had  become,  and,  however  great  their 
patience,  their  powers  of  endurance  were  taxed 
almost  byond  their  extreme  limit. 

Three  weeks  had  passed,  and  Bracebridge 
had  not  returned,  nor  had  he  sent  any  mes- 
sage. If  Dorothy  was  delighted,  and  undoubt- 
edly she  was,  her  lady  mother  was  just  the  re- 
verse, and  she  questioned  Diabolo  very  close- 
ly to  try  and  discover  if  he  knew  anything  of 
his  master's  movements  or  whereabouts.  But 


225 

the  dwarf  declared  ignorance  with  such  an  air 
of  truth  that  she  perforce  believed  him. 

Sir  George  Vernon  did  not  seem  particularly 
concerned;  at  any  rate  he  gave  no  outward 
sign  that  his  mind  was  disturbed.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  it  took  a  very  great  deal  to  upset 
his  equanimity;  he  was  an  easy-going,  genial- 
tempered  man,  upon  whom  the  burden  of  life 
sat  lightly.  When  his  wife  remarked  upon 
Bracebridge's  prolonged  absence,  and  ex- 
pressed surprise,  he  laughed,  and  said  he  saw 
nothing  very  strange  in  it;  Bracebridge  had 
much  to  attend  to,  and  his  estates  required  a 
good  deal  of  personal  attention.  This  did  not 
satisfy  the  lady,  though  what  could  she  say 
against  it?  But  she  asked  him  if  he  didn't 
think  it  peculiar  that  Dorothy  should  seem  so 
contented  and  so  unusually  cheerful. 

"  Surely,  dame,  you  would  not  have  her 
moping  and  wailing,  would  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  but  methinks  it  would  look  more 
gracious  if  she  showed  that  she  sometimes 
thought  of  her  absent  lover." 

"  You  cannot  tell  what  the  child  thinks,"  he 
returned.  "  She  knows  how  to  conceal  her 
thoughts." 

"  Wherein  she  takes  after  her  father,"  the 
lady  said  with  a  sneer. 


226 

Sir  George  remained  unruffled,  for  the  shaft 
failed  to  pierce  him,  and  his  lady  did  not  pur- 
sue the  subject  further,  but  her  annoyance  was 
by  no  means  lessened  nor  her  amiability  to- 
ward Dorothy  increased. 

During  all  this  time  love  had  been  growing 
and  strengthening  between  the  disguised 
earl's  son  and  Haddon's  fair  daughter,  and 
yet  they  could  do  little  more  than  regard  each 
other  from  a  respectful  distance.  But  at  last 
an  intimation  was  conveyed  to  Manners  by  the 
medium  of  the  ever-ready  Dawson  that  if  he 
would  repair  to  a  certain  spot  beneath  the 
lady's  chamber  when  darkness  had  fallen,  he 
would  probably  be  able  to  have  an  interview 
with  her,  and  so,  while  the  faithful  Aleyne 
kept  watch  and  ward  outside,  and  the  no  less 
faithful  Madge  rendered  the  same  service  in 
the  house,  the  fair  Dorothy  leaned  out  of  her 
window  and  conversed  in  low  tones  with  the 
eager  wooer  below. 

Dorothy  felt  that  she  had  now  taken  the 
plunge,  and,  whatever  the  result,  whatever  the 
consequences,  there  could  be  no  retreat.  This 
clandestine  wooing,  however,  was  necessarily 
the  cause  of  much  uneasiness  on  Doll's  part, 
for  she  went  about  in  fear  that  at  any  moment 
the  little  conspiracy  against  Bracebridge  and 


K7 

the  Lady  Vernon  might  be  discovered  and  lead 
to  lifelong  unhappiness.  Often  was  she 
tempted  to  take  her  father  into  her  confidence, 
but  whenever  she  broached  the  subject  to 
Madge — and  there  was  little  she  would  do 
without  Madge's  knowledge — the  old  woman 
argued  against  it,  and  no  doubt  she  was  right, 
for,  apart  from  the  fact  that  Sir  George  was 
much  under  the  influence  of  his  wife,  he  would 
hardly  have  been  willing  that  his  sweet  Doll 
should  mate  with  a  man  whose  prospects  were 
far  from  bright. 

So  Doll  and  her  secret  lover  had  to  exchange 
their  vows  by  stealth,  and  under  the  cover  of 
the  night,  when,  as  they  believed  and  hoped, 
no  eyes  would  be  able  to  see  them.  She  had 
already  given  her  pledge  to  John  that  she 
would  be  true  and  faithful  to  him,  but  she 
tried  to  shut  her  eyes  to  the  consequences  of 
that  pledge.  Sooner  or  later  her  father  would 
have  to  know — and,  what  then?  She  dare  not 
pause  for  a  reply,  and  altogether  the  situation 
was  too  complex  for  her  to  reflect  upon  it 
calmly. 

At  length  letters  came  from  the  long-absent 
Bracebridge.  He  accounted  for  his  absence  by 
unexpected  demands  that  had  been  made  upon 
his  time  and  attention  by  a  family  dispute  that 


228 

had  arisen  about  the  rightful  ownership  of  a 
certain  property;  but  he  was  delighted  as  he 
informed  Doll,  to  be  able  to  say  that  matters 
were  being  amicably  settled,  and  he  hoped  to 
reach  Haddon  very  soon  after  his  letters.  He 
declared  that  he  was  sighing  his  heart  out  for 
his  "  sweet  love,"  and  that  every  moment  he 
was  absent  from  her  seemed  like  an  age.  The 
days  were  dreary  and  the  nights  long,  he 
vowed,  and  he  was  yearning  with  irresistible 
desire  to  hear  her  silvery  voice  and  look  into 
the  depths  of  her  liquid  eyes  once  more. 

There  was  much  more  to  that  effect  in 
Dorothy's  letter,  but  it  only  served  to  produce 
in  her  a  feeling  of  disgust  and  a  sense  of  dread 
of  his  return.  She  did  not  withhold  from  her 
true  lover,  John  Manners,  what  Bracebridge 
had  written,  and  when  she  asked  him  how  she 
should  act,  and  what  she  should  do,  he  had 
to  confess  that  he  could  not  advise  her,  but  he 
did  not  fail  to  remind  her  again  and  again  that 
she  had  solemnly  vowed  to  be  true  to  him,  and 
he  expressed  his  willingness,  notwithstanding 
that  he  had  been  worsted  in  his  encounter  with 
his  rival  in  Darley  Dale,  to  challenge  him  to 
mortal  combat  and  fight  him  to  the  death. 

"  And  you  may  rely  upon  it,"  he  added, 
"  love  of  thee  would  so  nerve  my  arm  and 


.229 

quicken  my  eye  that  I  should  be  sure  to  win." 
Dorothy,  however,  only  shuddered,  and  said 
there  would  be  no  more  fighting  on  her  ac- 
count; and  yet  she  saw  no  way  out  of  the  di- 
lemma. It  was  as  clear  as  noonday  to  her  that 
if  Bracebridge  came  to  know  that  Manners  was 
secretly  wooing  her  his  fiery  nature  would  be  so 
aroused  that  nothing  short  of  his  rival's  death 
would  satisfy  him. 


230 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

ANOTHER    AFFAIR    OF    HONOR. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  John  Manners  him- 
self was  no  less  anxious  about  the  future  and 
the  consequences  of  his  actions  than  was 
Dorothy.  He  would  have  had  to  have  been 
much  less  intelligent  than  he  was  if  he  had 
failed  to  fully  understand  the  risks  and  dan- 
ger he  ran.  It  wasn't  thought  of  danger  to 
himself  that  concerned  him,  for  his  courage 
was  dauntless,  but  he  was  troubled  about  his 
sweetheart,  for  she  loved  him,  and  if  anything 
occurred  to  keep  them  apart  she  would  prob- 
ably not  survive  the  blow.  Many  and  long 
were  the  discussions  he  had  with  his  devoted 
friend  Aleyne,  who  for  his  sake  endured  all 
the  hardships  and  discomfort  inseparable  from 
the  position  of  a  common  woodman.  Aleyne 
saw  as  a  dispassionate  outsider  that  his  friend's 
position  was  one  of  extraordinary  difficulty, 
and  there  were  only  two  ways,  as  it  seemed 
to  him,  out  of  that  difficulty.  The  one  was  to 


231 

approach  Sir  George  and  Lady  Vernon,  and 
make  full  and  frank  avowal  of  his  passion  for 
their  daughter,  and  plead  to  them  for  their 
consent  that  he  might  woo  her.  The  other 
was  to  furnish  such  proof  that  Bracebridge  was 
little  better  than  an  adventurer,  that  they  would 
at  once  shut  their  doors  against  him. 

The  first  way  had  already  been  examined 
and  talked  over.  Madge  had  resolutely  set 
her  face  against  it,  Dorothy  was  afraid,  and 
Manners  had  a  strong  feeling  that  his  suit 
would  never  be  regarded  favorably,  and,  after 
all,  it  was  very  human  for  him  to  shrink  from 
taking  a  course  that  might  probably  separate 
him  for  ever  from  the  woman  who  had  now  be- 
come dearer  to  him  than  life.  The  second  was 
more  feasible. 

The  tongue  of  scandal,  or  mayhap  spite,  had 
occasionally  been  busy  with  Bracebridge's 
name.  At  any  rate,  Manners  had  felt  justified 
on  that  memorable  occasion  when  he  had  met 
Dorothy  at  the  woodman's  hut  in  Haddon 
Chase  in  hinting  at  disreputable  conduct  on 
the  part  of  Sir  Falconer.  Now  it  was  but  fair 
that  he  should  take  steps  to  prove  his  state- 
ment, right  or  wrong.  If  Bracebridge  could 
be  shown  to  be  disreputable  and  unworthy, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  Sir  George  Ver- 


232 

non  would  never  consent  to  his  being  mated 
with  Dorothy. 

Yes,  Manners  would  and  must  justify  him- 
self, and  so  he  announced  his  intention  of  go- 
ing forth  to  seek  for  the  proof  that  was  re- 
quired. But  his  good  friend  laid  a  restraining 
hand  on  his  arm,  and  said : 

"  Let  the  task  be  mine.  Remain  you  here, 
to  comfort  your  ladylove,  while  I,  who  have  no 
such  cause  for  staying,  will  set  forth  and  en- 
deavor to  trace  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  to 
his  lair.  Possibly  there  is  much  to  be  learned 
that  is  worth  learning ;  at  any  rate,  on  me  shall 
fall  the  duty,  and  as  I  value  honor  so  you  may 
depend  upon  my  bringing  a  true  and  faithful 
report." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  John  Manners 
yielded  to  his  friend,  and  they  parted  with 
many  adieus,  and  Aleyne  promised  to  return 
with  all  convenient  speed.  Still  wearing  his 
forester's  disguise,  he  set  off  in  the  afternoon, 
intending  to  journey  to  the  place  in  Lanca- 
shire from  whence  Bracebridge  had  addressed 
his  letters. 

The  next  day  Diabolo  had  disappeared  from 
Haddon,  and  all  inquiries  failed  to  elicit  when 
he  went  and  where  he  had  gone  to. 


233 

In  the  interest  of  the  reader  who  so  far  has 
followed  the  fortunes  of  the  characters  who 
play  their  part  in  this  very  human  drama  of 
real  life  it  is  necessary  to  turn  once  more  to 
Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge.  It  has  already  been 
demonstrated  that  this  gentleman  was  not  only 
very  worldly,  but  very  unprincipled.  His  am- 
bition was  boundless,  and  in  order  to  gratify 
it  he  was  prepared  to  go  to  almost  any  ex- 
treme. Added  to  this  was  an  over-weening 
vanity  which  made  him  intolerant  of  every- 
one else's  opinions  and  feelings.  It  was  due 
entirely  to  this  vanity  that  he  took  young 
Ralph  Bardsdale  with  him  to  Haddon  Hall. 

The  Bardsdales  were  a  somewhat  homely 
family,  with  no  very  lofty  aspirations,  and  it 
pleased  Bracebridge  to  pose  before  them  as  a 
man  of  tremendous  influence  and  great  impor- 
tance. The  fame  of  the  Vernons,  and  particu- 
larly of  Dorothy  Vernon,  King  of  the  Peak, 
had  reached  them,  and  they  had  also  heard 
much  of  the  matchless  beauty  of  Dorothy  Ver- 
non, and  when  Bracebridge  boasted  of  his 
power  and  influence  over  the  Vernons,  and 
that  he  was  the  bridegroom-elect  of  Dorothy, 
they  probably  indicated  by  their  manner  some 
incredulity,  which  piqued  the  man's  consum- 
mate vanity.  Hence  it  came  about  that  he 


234 

resolved  to  take  the  stripling,  Ralph,  with  him 
to  Haddon,  so  that  when  the  youth  returned 
he  would  tattle  freely,  and  that  would  gratify 
Bracebridge  immensely. 

But  when  he  started  off  from  Cheshire  with 
this  raw  youth  he  little  dreamed  of  what  the 
results  of  his  act  would  be.  He  was  not  the 
man  to  be  greatly  moved  or  deeply  touched  by 
the  lad's  untimely  death,  for,  like  the  great 
monarch,  Henry  VIII. ,  whom  he  resembled  so 
much  in  appearance,  he  did  not  indulge  in 
sentiment,  and  his  conscience  was  so  hide- 
bound that  nothing  disturbed  it.  At  the  same 
time  he  was  not  free  from  concern  as  to  what 
extent  the  boy's  death  might  involve  him  in 
trouble  with  the  Bardsdales.  When  they 
learned  of  Ralph's  death,  and  the  circumstances 
which  led  up  to  the  fatal  encounter,  they  were 
stunned  by  the  shock,  and  before  they  had  re- 
covered to  any  extent  Bracebridge  had  taken 
his  departure,  and  on  returning  to  Haddon  he 
found  that  a  new  danger  and  difficulty  con- 
fronted him. 

His  rival  and  antagonist  had  not  succumbed, 
as  he  had  hoped  he  would;  and  from  what  he 
gathered  from  Lady  Vernon  he  had  reason  to 
fear  that  he  might  after  all  lose  Dorothy.  No 
evidence  was  forthcoming  that  Dorothy  and 


235  . 

John  Manners  were  in  communication;  old 
Madge  and  Will  Dawson  had  managed  the 
business  so  cleverly  that  they  had  given  their 
opponents  no  clue  to  go  upon.  But  the  fact 
that  Manners  was  still  lingering  in  Darley, 
where  he  had  made  himself  a  persona  grata, 
was  in  itself  a  fact  sufficiently  suspicious  to 
Bracebridge's  mind  to  render  it  desirable  that 
he  should  be  got  out  of  the  way. 

But  then  came  the  question,  how  was  that  to 
be  effected?  He  could  not  have  found  a  shad- 
ow of  excuse  for  again  challenging  him  to 
combat,  and  even  if  this  could  have  been  done 
Manners  had  proved  himself  far  too  clever  a 
swordsman  to  be  challenged  lightly.  Brace- 
bridge  knew  only  too  well  that  it  was  only  by 
a  lucky  chance  alone  he  had  been  enabled  to 
come  out  of  the  encounter  successfully.  He 
might  not  be  so  fortunate  on  another  occasion. 
No,  to  fight  his  rival  a  second  time  would  be 
too  risky.  He  must  find  some  other  way  of  re- 
moving him. 

Near  Chorley,  in  Lancashire,  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge  owned  a  small  manor,  which  had 
been  bequeathed  to  him  by  a  relative.  It  was 
a  profitless  property,  but  there  was  an  old 
house  dating  back  nearly  two  hundred  years. 
It  had  from  time  to  time  been  restored  and 


236 

partly  rebuilt,  and  the  preceding  owner  had 
converted  it  into  something  like  a  stronghold. 
For  that  reason  Bracebridge  retained  it,  for  as 
a  soldier  of  fortune  he  thought  the  time  might 
possibly  come  when  it  would  be  useful  to  him, 
so  he  placed  it  in  charge  of  a  creature  of  his, 
one  Henry  Sparbolt,  who  was  conspicuous  by 
his  enormous  physical  proportions  and  great 
muscular  strength. 

This  man  had  been  in  the  service  of  Brace- 
bridge's  father,  but  on  the  death  of  that 
gentleman  had  abandoned  himself  to  evil  ways, 
and  after  a  vicious  course  of  some  years  he 
killed  a  man  in  a  brawl,  and  to  escape  the  pen- 
alty of  his  deed  fled  to  France.  Being  un- 
able, however,  to  speak  French,  and  having  no 
means,  he  was  glad  enough  to  return,  and, 
going  to  Sir  Falconer,  he  offered  to  be  his 
slave  if  he  would  protect  him.  Bracebridge 
saw  at  once  that  this  strong  knave,  who  was 
not  lacking  in  shrewdness  or  intelligence, 
might  be  useful,  and  so  he  placed  him  in 
charge  of  the  small  manor  in  Chorley.  When 
the  difficulty  about  Manners  arose  Bracebridge 
sent  for  his  factotum,  who  brought  with  him 
a  brother  rascal,  known  as  Peter  Crabshaw, 
who  was  also  dependent  upon  Bracebridge's 
bounty,  and  among  them  they  concocted  the 


237 

dastardly  plot  of  carrying  Manners  off  to  the 
old  mill  in  Miller's  Dale,  which  had  been  se- 
cured for  the  purpose. 

It  was  hoped  that  by  immuring  John  in  this 
place  he  could  be  coerced  into  pledging  his 
word  of  honor  he  would  go  out  of  Derbyshire. 
But,  failing  that,  the  ruffian  Hal,  otherwise 
Henry  Sparbolt,  received  a  hint  that  his  pris- 
oner might  remain  in  Derbyshire,  but  not  as 
a  living  man.  Just  before  the  dastardly  plot 
was  put  into  execution  the  cautious  Brace- 
bridge  deemed  it  advisable  that  he  should  jour- 
ney toward  London,  for  naturally  he  was  very 
anxious  that  it  should  not  be  known  he  was  re- 
sponsible for  Manners'  abduction. 

It  was  near  London  that  he  fell  in  with  Dia- 
bolo,  who  was  one  of  a  troupe  of  mountebanks 
performing  at  a  fair.  Bracebridge  took  a 
fancy  to  the  manikin,  and  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  that  the  fellow,  apart  from  his  ability 
to  amuse,  and  his  oddities  generally,  might  be 
turned  into  a  faithful  spy.  So  he  practically 
purchased  him  under  an  indenture  which  gave 
him  absolute  control  of  his  services  for  a  num- 
ber of  years. 

Diabolo  himself,  being,  of  course,  a  contract- 
ing party,  Bracebridge  soon  found  that  in  this 
dwarf  he  had  got  a  very  pliable  tool,  who  for 


238 

the  sake  of  gain  would  lend  himself  to  any- 
thing, and  on  the  way  back  to  Haddon  he  was 
posted  up  in  duties  he  would  have  to  under- 
take. In  short,  he  was  to  be  his  master's 
watchdog. 

On  arriving  at  Haddon,  Bracebridge  learned 
to  his  alarm  that  John  Manners  had  escaped 
out  of  the  net  that  had  been  so  cunningly 
spread  for  him,  and  it  was  not  known  where  he 
had  flown  to.  On  the  top  of  this  trouble  came 
another  one.  An  uncle  of  young  Ralph  Bards- 
dale,  who  had  been  greatly  attached  to  the 
youth,  and  who  strongly  disliked  Bracebridge, 
wrote  to  the  latter  saying  that  he  should  hold 
him  responsible  for  the  lad's  death.  He  used 
some  very  abusive  terms  to  Bracebridge,  and 
wound  up  by  saying  he  would  proceed  at  once 
to  Haddon,  and  have  a  full  inquiry  made  into 
all  the  circumstances  attending  the  death  of 
Ralph. 

As  it  would  never  have  done  for  Bracebridge 
to  allow  this  peppery  person  to  come  to  Had- 
don, he  dispatched  an  express  messenger  to 
him  to  say  that  he  was  then  on  his  way  to  his 
property  in  Chorley,  and  there  he  would  be 
glad  to  meet  him.  The  messenger  was  just  in 
time  to  stay  the  uncle,  whose  name,  by  the 
way,  was  Featherstone,  from  starting  for  Had- 


239 

don,  and,  full  of  fire  and  fury,  he  set  out  for 
Chorley  instead,  accompanied  by  two  servants. 
Featherstone  was  the  youngest  brother  of 
Lady  Bardsdale.  He  was  a  sturdy,  lusty  fel- 
low, and  quite  as  much  of  a  fire-eater  as  was 
Bracebridge  himself. 

At  that  period  it  did  not  take  much  to  stir 
up  the  blood  of  young  gentlemen  who  wore 
swords,  for  the  wearers  were  as  a  rule  only  too 
anxious  to  test  the  quality  and  temper  of  their 
steel,  while  a  desire  to  "  show  off  "  was  often 
responsible  for  a  good  deal  of  bloodshed  and 
much  bitterness.  But  Featherstone  felt  that 
he  had  a  genuine  cause  of  grievance.  Apart 
from  the  terrible  distress  of  his  sister  at  the 
loss  of  her  son,  he  held  Bracebridge  in  no 
esteem,  and  blamed  him  for  having  allowed 
the  young  man  to  fight.  Indeed,  Featherstone 
had  got  a  notion  that  Bracebridge  had  set  him 
on  to  fight. 

When  Featherstone  reached  Chorley  he 
found  Bracebridge  in  a  conciliatory  mood,  and 
he  was  received  with  a  certain  amount  of  re- 
spectful deference.  Bracebridge  knew  that  he 
had  everything  to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain  by 
quarreling  with  this  gentleman,  and  he  was, 
therefore,  anxious  to  avoid  a  conflict,  if  possi- 
ble. But  though  Featherstone  listened  patient- 


240 

ly  to  the  explanations  that  were  offered  he  was 
neither  satisfied  nor  appeased.  He  bluntly 
told  Bracebridge  that  he  had  no  business  to 
have  taken  Bardsdale  with  him,  knowing  as 
he  did  he  was  going  deliberately  to  force  Man- 
ners to  fight,  and  that  morally  he  was  respon- 
sible for  the  boy's  death. 

An  argument  of  this  kind  between  two  men 
who  did  not  love  each  other,  and  who  were 
privileged  to  wear  deadly  weapons,  in  the  use 
of  which  they  were  both  skilled,  was  hardly 
likely  to  be  confined  to  words  and  mutual  re- 
crimination. Bracebridge's  vanity  was  very 
easily  pricked.  He  always  believed  himself  the 
better  man,  and  was  quick  to  resent  any 
charge  brought  against  him,  however  well 
founded  it  might  be.  The  result  of  the  words 
of  warfare  was  therefore  that  Sir  Falconer's 
limited  stock  of  patience  became  exhausted, 
and,  tapping  the  hilt  of  his  sword  significantly, 
he  said : 

"  Look  here,  sir,  I've  given  you  my  expla- 
nation, and  you  refuse  to  accept  it,  and  as  it 
seems  to  me  you  have  come  here  with  the  de- 
liberate intention  to  insult  me,  I  beg  to  say  I 
am  at  your  service,  and  with  my  sword  I  know 
how  to  defend  my  honor." 

".It    seems   to   me,"   answered   the   other, 


"  that  your  honor  is  as  easily  put  on  and  off 
to  suit  your  convenience  as  your  cloak,  but, 
'nevertheless,  if  you  think  such  a  flimsy  thing 
as  your  honor  is  worth  defending  I  am  ready 
to  give  you  the  opportunity." 

Needless  to  say  this  taunt  aroused  the  demon 
in  Bracebridge,  as  no  doubt  it  was  intended  to 
do.  He  said  it  was  an  insult  no  gentleman 
would  tolerate,  and  he  bade  his  visitor  name 
a  time  and  place  when  the  final  appeal  should 
be  made. 

Featherstone  replied  that  there  was  no  time 
like  the  present;  that  that  place  was  good 
enough  for  him;  that  he  had  two  trusty  at- 
tendants with  him  who  would  see  fair  play; 
and  he  wound  up  by  accusing  his  opponent  of 
being  an  adventurer  and  a  dastard,  and  he 
hurled  his  glove  in  his  face. 

That  was  the  final  straw.  Much  as  Brace- 
bridge  desired  to  avoid  an  encounter,  he  could 
not  pocket  such  an  affront  as  that;  and  so  the 
disputants  descended  to  the  courtyard,  which 
soon  resounded  with  the  clash  of  steel,  while 
each  of  the  fighters  strained  every  nerve  and 
sinew  for  mastery. 

Bracebridge,  whatever  his  moral  character 
was,  could  not  be  depised  as  a  swordsman,  but 


242 

in  this  instance,  notwithstanding  his  weight  and 
power  of  thrust,  he  had  met  more  than  his 
match. 

Featherstone  was  a  perfect  master  of  fence. 
Hejplayed  with  his  antagonist  for  a  while  as  a 
salmon  fisher  might  play  with  a  hooked  salmon 
until  he  was  exhausted,  then  he  gaffed  him, 
or,  in  other  words,  he  ran  him  through  the 
body,  and  Bracebridge  went  to  the  ground  like 
a  felled  ox.  The  fight  had  been  conducted  in 
a  perfectly  fair  manner,  and  according  to  the 
rules  which  were  usually  observed  in  such 
cases.  Therefore  Mr.  Featherstone,  having 
wiped  his  weapon,  and  the  business  which  had 
brought  him  being  finished,  went  forth  with 
his  attendants,  unmolested,  and  returned  to 
his  home  very  well  pleased  with  his  day's  work. 

In  the  meantime  the  wounded  man  was 
borne  with  all  speed  to  his  chamber,  a  trail  of 
blood  marking  the  way,  and  a  surgeon  was 
procured  without  a  moment's  loss  of  time. 
Bracebridge  had  been  pierced  below  the  ribs 
on  the  left  side,  and  when  the  learned  leech 
had  made  an  examination  of  his  patient  he 
looked  grave,  and  let  it  be  known  that  he  con- 
sidered the  wound  a  very  dangerous  one. 

It  would  not  be   easy  to  describe   Brace- 


243 

bridge's  thoughts  and  feelings  when  he 
realized  that  his  life  was  in  jeopardy,  and  that 
death  was  likely  to  put  a  stop  to  his  ambitious 
schemes  and  dreams. 

For  several  days  his  existence  hung  by  a 
thread.  But  he  had  youth  and  a  strong  will 
in  his  favor,  and  these,  combined  with  un- 
doubted skill  on  the  part  of  the  surgeon,  pulled 
him  from  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  having 
passed  the  crisis  he  began  to  rapidly  mend, 
until  he  reached  the  convalescent  stage. 

Then  he  was  able  to  write  and  dispatch  let- 
ters to  Haddon,  but  he  was  careful  to  avoid 
any  reference  to  the  causes  which  had  kept  him 
away,  and  he  cherished  a  hope  that  he  might 
be  able  to  keep  his  Haddon  acquaintances  in 
ignorance  of  what  had  happened  since  he  left 
them,  for  he  was  afraid  that  if  the  affair  should 
get  noised  abroad  it  might  still  further  prej- 
udice him  in  the  eyes  of  Dorothy. 

After  his  marriage  with  her  it  would  not 
matter.  Then  he  would  rule  her  as  a  woman 
should  be  ruled,  according  to  his  way  of  think- 
ing. With  his  return  to  health  he  began  to 
scheme  again,  and  he  resolved  that  when  he 
got  back  to  Haddon  he  would  make  a  formal 
demand  for  Dorothy's  hand,  and  urge  his  suit 


244 

with  all  the  eloquence  he  was  capable  of  com- 
rrtanding.  Before  he  could  start  upon  his  re- 
turn journey,  however,  Diabolo  unexpectedly 
arrived,  and  the  news  that  the  manikin 
brought  delayed  the  starting  still  longer, 


245 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    TIDE    OF    FATE. 

Diabolo's  sudden  disappearance  from  Had- 
don  Hall  did  not  cause  either  Mistress  Vernon 
or  John  Manners  any  concern.  The  fact  of 
his  being  a  spy  was  made  clear  by  his  going, 
because  there  could  be  little  doubt  that  he  had 
followed  Aleyne,  who  had  got  a  good  start, 
however,  and  probably  would  be  able  to  out- 
maneuver  the  dwarf,  cunning  and  clever  as  he 
was. 

A  week  later  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  was 
back  at  Haddon,  and  Diabolo  was  with  him. 
In  reply  to  very  natural  questions  that  were 
put  to  him,  the  dwarf  explained  that  he  had 
had  a  dream  that  his  master  was  ill,  and  so 
yielded  suddenly  to  an  irresistible  desire  to 
go  to  him. 

"  And  did  you  find  him  ill?"  was  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  had  been  ill,  but  was  recover- 
ing." 

This  story  was  borne  out  by  Bracebridge's 


246 

looks,  and,  no  doubt,  had  been  prearranged  to 
account  for  the  patient's  pale  face  and  wasted 
appearance,  which,  of  course,  could  not  be 
disguised.  His  own  explanation  was  that  he 
had  been  seized  with  a  fever.  In  a  sense,  this 
was  true,  because  fever  had  followed  the 
wound.  He  had  refrained  from  sending  news 
of  his  illness,  he  said,  as  he  was  anxious  to 
avoid  alarming  his  friends. 

Lady  Vernon  scolded  him  severely  for  this 
reticence,  but  expressed  a  hope  that  the  air  of 
Haddon  would  speedily  restore  him  to  sound 
health  again,  and,  trading  on  her  sympathies, 
which  had  been  thus  aroused,  he  pleaded  to 
her  to  do  all  that  she  possibly  could  to  hasten 
on  his  nuptials  with  Dorothy.  The  result  was 
the  lady  began  to  importune  Dorothy  to  con- 
sent to  an  early  marriage. 

As  may  be  supposed,  Bracebridge's  return 
was  not  welcome  to  either  Dorothy  or  John 
Manners.  To  her  it  was  hateful  to  have  to 
play  the  double  part  she  was  now  called  upon 
to  undertake,  but  she  was  fully  aware  that  she 
must  play  it  unless  she  was  prepared  to  aban- 
don Manners  and  accept  Bracebridge. 

She  felt  now  that  rather  than  do  that  she 
would  die.  As  it  became  perfectly  evident  that 
Diabolo  was  more  vigilant  than  ever,  and  that 


247 

he  watched  all  her  movements,  she  deemed  it 
desirable  that  for  a  time  Manners  should  cease 
to  hold  communication  with  her.  He  saw  the 
advisability  of  this  himself,  and  consented  to 
go  to  a  remote  part  of  the  Haddon  estate  where 
a  plantation  was  being  made. 

Naturally,  John  expected  that  within  a  day 
or  so  of  Bracebridge's  return  Aleyne  would 
come  back  also,  but  such  was  not  the  case ;  and 
when  a  week  had  passed  he  was  still  absent. 
The  only  way  to  account  for  this  was  that  the 
inquiries  he  was  pursuing  were  occupying  more 
time  than  he  anticipated.  Two  weeks  went  by, 
and  still  he  was  absent.  Manners  thought  this 
delay  strange,  and  yet  he  felt  no  uneasiness. 
When  at  the  end  of  another  week,  however, 
Aleyne  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance,  his 
friend  could  no  longer  repress  a  feeling  of 
anxiety. 

In  the  meantime  he  heard  that  Jedaan  had 
reappeared,  and  had  been  seen  at  Bakewell,  so 
he  set  off  to  find  her  and  enlist  her  services  in 
trying  to  ascertain  what  had  become  of  his 
friend.  She  had  been  wandering  about  the 
country  as  usual,  and  was  paying  a  final  visit 
to  Bakewell  preparatory  to  journeying  to  the 
far  north  of  Scotland.  She  expressed  her 
readiness,  however,  to  go  in  search  of  Aleyne, 


and  would  use  every  endeavor  to  get  tidings 
of  him. 

The  weird  woman  at  once  set  off,  directing 
her  steps  in  the  first  instance  to  Chorley.  The 
very  next  day,  strangely  enough,  a  messenger 
arrived  in  hot  haste  to  summon  Bracebridge 
to  the  deathbed  of  his  mother,  an  old  lady  of 
upward  of  eighty  years  of  age.  When  Doro- 
thy heard  that  he  was  going  she  insisted  on 
Diabolo's  going,  too. 

Bracebridge  reminded  her  that  he  had 
brought  him  for  her  especial  amusement,  and 
was  surprised  that  she  was  dissatisfied  with 
him. 

She  hastened  to  explain  that  he  didn't  amuse 
her.  On  the  contrary  he  filled  her  with  re- 
pugnance, and  she  was  afraid  of  him. 

Bracebridge  declared  that  he  was  as  faithful 
as  a  dog. 

Dorothy  retorted  that  that  might  be,  but 
some  dogs  were  only  agreeable  to  their  mas- 
ters, and  could  not  be  tolerated  by  other  peo- 
ple. Diabolo  was  one  of  these. 

In  the  end  she  carried  her  point,  and  to  her 
intense  relief  saw  the  ugly  little  figure  go  off 
with  his  employer,  and  she  hoped  she  might 
never  more  behold  him.  It  was  not  until  the 
following  night  that  she  was  enabled  to  con- 


249 

verse  again  with  John  Manners,  who  could  not 
conceal  from  himself  or  her  the  distress  he  felt 
by  Aleyne's  continued  and  mysterious  absence. 

A  thought  was  uppermost  in  his  mind 
though  he  dare  not  give  it  utterance,  that  his 
dear  and  devoted  friend  had  come  to  an  un- 
timely end.  On  the  principle  that  no  news  was 
good  news,  Manners  hoped  for  the  best,  and 
yet  a  vague  fear  haunted  him  that  all  was  not 
well.  Nevertheless  he  resolved  to  urge  his  own 
suit  with  increased  vigor. 

He  knew  perfectly  well  that  there  must 
speedily  be  an  end  one  way  or  other  to  these 
secret  meetings.  The  risks  of  discovery  were 
so  great  that  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to 
avoid  them  much  longer.  The  laboring  men 
with  whom  he  was  compelled  to  associate  had 
at  first  wondered  who  he  was,  and  now  had  be- 
come suspicious  of  him.  He  had  been  plied 
with  questions,  and  something  more  than 
veiled  hints  had  been  let  drop  that  he  was  there 
for  no  good  purpose.  If  his  identity  should  be 
revealed  it  would  probably  not  only  separate 
him  for  ever  from  Dorothy,  but  very  seriously 
compromise  Will  Dawson,  who  had  been  so 
stanch  and  had  done  so  much  to  help  the 
lovers. 

A  consideration-  of  these  points,  to  which 


250 

John  Manners  would  not  close  his  eyes  with- 
out being  guilty  of  fatuous  folly,  determined 
him  to  bring  matters  to  a  climax  one  way  or 
the  other.  The  wedding  day  of  Margaret  was 
fast  approaching,  and  once  that  had  passed  his 
chances  of  winning  Dorothy  would  be  still 
further  lessened. 

Up  to  the  present  each  of  them  had,  by  tacit 
consent,  avoided  a  discussion  of  what  the  end 
of  their  clandestine  courtship  was  likely  to  be. 
Doll  did  not  care  to  look  ahead,  and  John 
avoided  the  subject  until  he  felt  perfectly  sure 
that  he  had  gained  her  heart.  As  he  could  no 
longer  doubt  that  such  was  the  case,  he  felt 
that  the  moment  had  come  for  an  understand- 
ing as  to  what  they  were  going  to  do.  A  brief 
meeting  had  been  arranged  in  the  woodman's 
hut  in  the  Chase,  and,  as  no  such  favorable 
opportunity  might  occur  again,  he  embraced 
it. 


251 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    SEAL    OF    COMPACT. 

"  Am  I  right,  Doll,  in  supposing  that  I  have 
become  essential  to  your  happiness?  "  asked 
John  Manners,  coming  to  the  point  at  once, 
as  soon  as  the  mutual  greetings  had  been  ex- 
changed in  the  little  arbor  in  the  wood. 

"  Ah,  John,  need  you  ask  such  a  question?  " 
she  answered ;  "  you  know  you  are." 

"  Very  well,  dear  one ;  then  don't  you  think 
the  time  has  now  come  when  I  may  fairly  ask 
what  the  end  of  this  clandestine  love-making 
is  to  be?  Behold  me — the  son  of  an  Earl,  the 
representative  of  an  old  and  honored  family, 
garbed  in  leather  jerkin,  slouch  hat,  and  boots 
of  untanned  leather,  and  think  of  the  weeks 
of  discomfort  I  have  endured  for  the  sake  of 
the  love  I  bear  you." 

"  You  have  done  it  all  for  sweet  love,  John. 
Do  I  not  love  you?  And  have  I  not  deceived 
all  nearest  and  dearest  to  me  for  your  dear 
sake?  " 


252 

"  You  have — you  have,  my  beloved,"  he 
cried  with  rapturous  joy  as  he  folded  her  in 
his  arms,  and  the  tender,  sensitive  beauty  of 
her  young,  fresh  face  was  a  study  as  the  bright 
eyes  danced  with  joy,  and  a  flush  of  excitement 
encrimsoned  the  cheeks. 

"  But  all  things  must  have  an  end,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  since  you  have  tested  my  fidelity 
and  devotion,  may  I  not  claim  my  reward?  " 

"  Ah,  dear  me,  have  patience,  patience,"  she 
sighed. 

"  To  what  end,  Doll?  Only,  perhaps,  to  be 
separated  from  you  at  last,  and  never  again  to 
see  you." 

"  Oh,  John,  you  frighten  me  when  you  say 
that.  What  would  become  of  me?  I  should 
die  or  lose  my  senses  were  you  to  go  from  me." 

"  Then  let  us  make  our  union  so  strong  that 
none  shall  be  able  to  separate  us." 

"  But  how  can  we  do  it?  " 

"  You  must  elope  with  me." 

She  shuddered  and  drew  away  from  him. 

"  It  is  impossible,  impossible,"  she  whisper- 
ed, her  face  filled  with  an  expression  of  dis- 
tress. "  I  say  it  is  impossible,  I  dare  not." 

"  Why  impossible,  heart  of  my  heart?  You 
have  to  choose  between  the  man  you  love  and 
the  man  you  hate." 


253 

"  But,  think,"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  tremulous 
with  agitation,  "  think  what  an  elopement 
would  mean.  Disgrace  to  the  family.  The 
breaking  of  my  father's  heart " 

"  No,  I  am  sure  he  would  soon  became  rec- 
onciled when  he  found  the  decisive  step  had 
been  taken." 

"  I  fear  not,"  she  sobbed,  "  and  he  has  been 
such  a  kind,  loving,  doting  father  to  me.  He 
has  worshiped  me,  placed  me  on  a  pedestal 
above  everything  and  everyone  else." 

"  And  yet  he  would  wed  you  to  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge?" 

"  He  thinks  it  is  to  my  happiness." 

"  But  make  it  clear  to  him  that  it  is  not." 

"  He  would  say  I  am  too  young  to  be  able 
to  judge." 

"  Then  take  your  fate  in  your  hands." 

"  Ah,  my  beloved,  tax  your  patience  but  yet 
a  little  while  longer." 

"  And  if  I  do,  how  will  it  change  the  situ- 
ation? No,  Doll,  we  must  look  the  difficulty 
in  the  face.  Either  you  must  consent  to  fly 
with  me  and  become  my  wife,  or  I  vow,  in  the 
name  of  God,  I  will  go  away  to  the  wars  and 
end  my  life,  for  without  you  I  have  nothing  to 
live  for." 

Again  she  shuddered,  and  her  white  fingers 


254 

closed  around  his  arm,  as,  half-choked  with 
emotion,  she  murmured : 

"  You  must  not,  must  not  leave  me.  My 
heart  would  break." 

"  Heaven  knows  that  mine  would  be  shat- 
tered if  I  were  parted  from  you.  But  there 
is  one  way,  and  one  way  only,  whereby  we  can 
become  united  to  part  no  more.  That  way  is 
flight.  Say,  will  you  brave  it  with  me?" 

She  turned  her  eyes,  suffused  with  tears,  to 
his  with  a  look  of  ineffable  love  and  trust,  and 
she  struggled  with  herself  for  a  brief  space,  as 
she  thought  of  the  confiding,  doting  father, 
who  made  a  boast  that  his  Doll  could  do  no 
wrong.  She  loved  and  honored  her  father,  but 
this  man  beside  her  had  taken  possession  of  her 
woman's  heart,  and  her  love  for  him  o'ershad- 
owed  all  other  love.  Her  arms  stole  around 
his  neck,  her  soft  cheek  was  laid  against  his 
cheek,  and  she  sighed  out  these  words : 

'  Take  me,  John,  and  if  I  do  wrong,  may 
God  forgive  me." 

Their  lips  met  in  a  passionate,  entrancing 
kiss.  It  was  the  seal  of  compact. 


255 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

COUNTERPLOTS. 

On  leaving  Haddon,  William  Aleyne  went 
direct  to  Chorley,  so  did  Diabolo,  but  on  set- 
ting out  the  dwarf  had  no  idea  that  he  was 
following  in  the  tracks  of  Aleyne. 

His  suspicions  had  been  aroused.  He  had 
watched  in  accordance  with  his  instructions, 
but  in  spite  of  his  cunning  was  baffled.  Being 
suspected  both  by  Dorothy  and  Manners,  they 
had  exercised  unusual  precautions  to  throw 
him  off  the  scent.  He  had  often  come  across 
Aleyne  when  Aleyne  was  acting  as  scout  for 
his  friend,  but  he  couldn't  quite  make  out 
whether  it  was  Aleyne  himself  who  was  pay- 
ing court  to  Dorothy.  Therefore  the  matter 
became  a  little  problem,  and  he  wasn't  quite 
equal  to  its  solution. 

One  evening  the  dwarf  and  one  of  the  lower 
servants  at  Haddon  had  been  amusing  them- 
selves at  a  little  inn  in  the  hamlet  of  Rowsley. 
They  were  hurrying  back  so  as  to  reach  the 


256 

Hall  before  all  the  gates  were  closed  for  the 
night.  The  servant  had  stowed  away  more 
ale  under  his  belt  than  he  could  comfortably 
carry,  so  Diabolo  left  him  to  find  his  way  as 
best  he  could,  and  rapidly  made  for  the  tiny 
bridge  spanning  the  Wye,  and  on  which  the 
crescent  light  from  the  slit  in  the  chapel  wall 
still  shone. 

As  Diabolo  neared  the  bridge  his  attention 
was  arrested  by  voices — men's  voices  in  low 
tones.  The  night  was  very  dark.  He  stood 
still  in  the  long  meadow  grass  and  listened. 
He  strained  his  ears  and  caught  this  fragment 
of  conversation : 

"  At  all  costs  Bracebridge  must  be  outwit- 
ted, but  the  utmost  caution  is  needed.  To 
be  discovered  now  would  be  our  undoing." 

The  men  were  John  Manners  and  William 
Aleyne.  They  moved  a  little,  and  the  ray  of 
light  just  fell  upon  them ;  but  one  had  his  back 
to  Diabolo.  That  one  was  Manners.  The 
other's  face  was  discernible.  That  one  was 
Aleyne.  Another  move,  and  they  were  in 
darkness  again.  In  a  few  minutes  the  bell  in 
the  tower  tolled  ten.  With  the  last  strokes  the 
light  was  extinguished,  in  accordance  with  the 
regulations,  but  the  dwarf  was  aware  that  the 
two  men  crossed  the  bridge.  He  allowed  them 


257 

a  little  start,  then  he  followed,  treading  as  if 
his  feet  were  shod  in  wool. 

The  friends  made  their  way  up  through  the 
wood,  passed  round  at  a  safe  distance  from  the 
Eagle  Tower,  or  main  entrance,  then  proceed- 
ed to  a  door  in  the  wall  surrounding  what  was 
known  as  the  "  Well  Field,"  so  called  because 
there  was  a  well  in  it,  from  which  part  of  the 
household  supply  of  water  was  drawn.  One 
of  the  two  produced  a  key,  opened  the  door, 
and  both  passed  in,  gently  locking  the  door 
after  them. 

It  was  a  feat  of  no  difficulty  whatever  for  the 
acrobatic  dwarf  to  mount  the  wall.  He  was 
like  a  monkey.  From  his  perch  he  saw  a  small 
light  burning  at  Miss  Dorothy  Vernon's  win- 
dow. He  guessed  at  once  that  it  was  a  signal, 
so  he  waited  and  watched.  Presently  a  man 
stealthily  crept  along  until  he  was  beneath 
the  window,  when  he  uttered  a  low  whistle. 
The  dwarf  thought,  but  he  was  wrong,  that 
the  man  was  William  Aleyne,  whereas  it  was 
Manners. 

The  whistle  was  a  signal. 

At  once  the  light  was  put  out,  the  window 
was  opened,  and  Dorothy  Vernon  spoke  softly 
for  a  few  minutes  with  her  lover,  but  Diabolo 
was  too  far  off  to  hear  what  was  said.  Then 


258 

the  window  was  closed,  a  curtain  drawn  across 
it,  and  the  man  moved  off. 

Diabolo  slipped  from  his  perch,  went  to  the 
main  entrance,  and  having  answered  satisfac- 
torily the  challenge  of  the  sentry,  was  admitted, 
inwardly  chuckling  at  the  discovery  he  had 
made.  But  his  mistaking  Manners  for  Aleyne 
was  the  means  of  bringing  about  a  strange 
tragedy. 

It  is  necessary  to  explain  that  neither  Man- 
ners nor  his  friend  was  known  by  his  proper 
name.  The  first  was  called  Dick  Weaver,  and 
Aleyne  passed  as  James  Yoxall.  In  the  course 
of  the  next  day  Diabolo  learned  that  James 
Yoxall  had  gone  away,  and,  believing  him  to 
be  the  secret  lover  of  Dorothy,  he  resolved 
to  speed  to  his  master  and  tell  him  of  his  dis- 
covery, and  he  disappeared  the  next  morning 
without  breathing  a  word  to  any  one. 

On  reaching  Chorley  William  Aleyne,  rep- 
resenting himself  as  a  woodman  seeking  em- 
ployment, and  on  the  tramp  to  Westmoreland, 
found  quarters  at  a  humble  inn  called  "  The 
Green  Man."  This  inn,  part  of  Bracebridge's 
estate,  was  kept  by  a  widower  of  the  name  of 
Stang,  while  his  daughter  Mary,  a  pretty,  silly, 
light-headed  wench,  attended  to  the  wants  of 
the  customers. 


259 

Mary  Stang  was  a  gossip,  ready  to  chat  with 
any  one,  for  scandal  and  gossip  were  dear  to 
her  heart.  Before  he  had  been  in  Chorley  two 
hours  William  Aleyne  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  Mary  Stang  might  unwittingly  prove  a 
useful  ally,  nor  was  he  wrong.  The  sturdy, 
good-looking  young  woodman  flattered  Mary. 
He  praised  her  good  looks,  her  hair,  her  eyes, 
and  declared  she  was  fit  to  be  wife  to  a  man 
of  quality.  Mary  was  pleased,  and  thought 
the  woodman  a  charming  fellow.  Having 
thus  paved  the  way,  he  began  to  ply  her  with 
questions. 

"  Who  lived  in  the  old  Manor  House?"  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  didn't  he  know?  Why,  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge,  a  gentleman  of  parts,  but  not  a 
saint  by  any  means." 

"  Was  he  married?" 

Mary  grinned,  and  looked  knowing.  She 
believed  he  wasn't  a  marrying  sort,  but  a  gen- 
eral lover.  He  once  tried  to  make  love  to 
her,  but  she  would  have  none  of  him.  Her 
opinion  was  that  he  was  a  sort  of  Bluebeard, 
and  she  was  quite  prepared  to  hear  that  he 
had  taken  a  dozen  ladies  at  least  to  his  castle 
and  murdered  them  all.  Lately,  with  bated 
breath,  it  had  been  whispered  that  there  had 


260 

been  strange  doings  at  the  old  Manor.  A 
mysterious  stranger  had  come  there,  and  the 
lord  had  fought  a  terrible  duel,  and  the  lord 
had  been  well-nigh  killed.  Mary  said  she 
wouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  she  were  told 
that  the  stranger  was  none  other  than  his  Sa- 
tanic Majesty,  for  she  was  sure  Bracebridge 
was  a  very  wicked  man,  and,  as  he  was  ac- 
counted the  finest  swordsman  in  all  England, 
she  was  of  opinion  that  no  one  could  have 
overcome  him  but  the  Evil  One. 

What  Mary's  father  would  have  said  if  he 
had  heard  her  talking  so  disrespectfully  of  his 
landlord  can  only  be  guessed,  but  she  took 
good  care  not  to  let  him  hear.  Her  gossip 
was  for  the  young  woodman,  who  was  such 
a  capital  listener,  and  praised  her  pretty  face 
so,  and  spoke  so  nicely,  and  seemed  so  su- 
perior to  the  generality  of  woodmen. 

Aleyne  was  in  no  hurry  to  move  on.  And 
as  he  had  money  enough  and  more  than 
enough  to  pay  his  daily  score,  he  was  a  wel- 
come guest  at  The  Green  Man,  and  to  none 
more  so  than  Mary,  who  loved  a  little  flirtation, 
for  Chorley  was  a  dull  place,  and  life  was  hard, 
and  it  was  seldom  such  an  agreeable  stranger 
graced  the  humble  hostelry  with  his  presence. 

By   means   of   this   gossiping   girl   Aleyne 


hoped  to  get  in  touch  with  some  one  in  Brace- 
bridge's  employ  who  might  be  in  possession 
of  more  reliable  information  than  she  had,  and 
whose  tongue  could  be  unlocked  with  a  gold- 
en key.  Possibly  he  might  have  succeeded  in 
accomplishing  this  desire  had  it  not  been  for 
the  arrival  of  Diabolo. 

Anyone  coming  from  the  south  and  going 
to  the  Manor  must  of  necessity  pass  through 
the  village,  and  anyone  going  through  the 
village  would  pass  The  Green  Man. 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  day.  A  glorious 
day  it  had  been ;  cloudless  and  hot,  and  as  the 
evening  drew  on  there  was  a  splendor  of  color 
in  the  western  heavens,  while  a  warm  breeze 
came  toiling  over  the  vast  expanse  of  open 
country  and  was  as  the  breath  of  a  furnace. 
Few  who  could  avoid  it  cared  to  remain  inside 
of  their  stuffy,  ill-ventilated  houses  in  such 
weather,  and  they  sought  the  open,  where  gos- 
sip could  be  indulged  in  after  the  labor  of  the 
day. 

Outside  of  the  inn  were  tables  and  benches, 
and  on  one  of  the  latter  Mary,  the  gossip,  and 
the  merry  young  woodman  who  had  made 
such  an  impression  upon  her  sat  together. 
Mary  was  busy  with  a  spinning-wheel,  and  the 
woodman  busy  with  his  thoughts,  his  legs 


262 

cased  in  long  boots  of  rough  hide  stretched 
straight  out,  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  the 
side  pockets  of  his  tanned  jerkin,  his  chin 
sunk  on  his  breast.  Mary's  tongue  kept  time 
to  the  whirr  of  her  wheel,  and  Aleyne  was 
mersed  in  mental  problems  concerning  the  fu- 
ture. Suddenly  the  girl  exclaimed  as  she 
ceased  to  spin: 

"  By  all  that's  holy,  what  kind  of  beast  is 
this  that's  coming?  " 

Aleyne  looked  up,  and  to  his  amazement  be- 
held the  monkey-like  dwarf  picking  his  way 
over  the  cobble  stones  of  the  narrow  street. 
He  was  sure  that  the  presence  of  the  dwarf 
there  boded  mischief,  and,  not  wishing  to  be 
recognized,  he  rose  abruptly,  and,  mumbling 
some  lame  excuse  about  procuring  a  jug  of  ale, 
disappeared  into  the  house. 

But  the  quick  ferret-like  eyes  of  Diabolo  had 
already  spotted  him,  and  his  surprise  was  as 
great  as  that  of  Aleyne.  Neither  had  dreamed 
of  meeting  the  other  in  Chorley,  and  yet  here 
they  both  were,  and,  each  thinking  his  own 
thoughts  according  to  the  circumstances  of  his 
position,  felt  that  the  game  was  getting  com- 
plicated and  inexplicable. 

It  had  been  Diabolo's  intention  to  wash  the 
dust  from  his  throat  at  the  inn,  but  he 


263 

changed  his  plan,  and,  utterly  indifferent  to 
the  sensation  he  caused  among  the  rustic 
population,  and  apparently  deaf  to  the  remarks 
and  chaff  that  greeted  him,  he  passed  on,  paus- 
ing for  a  minute  only  to  inquire  of  an  aged  cot- 
tager the  route  the  Manor.  When  he  was  well 
sway  Aleyne  came  forth  from  the  house  again, 
bearing  a  mug  of  beer.  Mary  was  all  agape, 
and  her  eyes  expressed  the  wonder  of  her  mind. 

"  Did  you  see  that  thing,  shaped  like  a  man 
and  yet  looking  like  a  monkey?  "  she  asked  all 
in  a  breath. 

The  woodman  laughed.  He  laughed  to  dis- 
guise his  own  surprise  and  annoyance. 

"  Oh,  an  abortion,"  he  answered.  "  A  mis- 
shapen specimen  of  humanity.  A  cunning 
juggler  and  tumbler,  I  should  think." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  I  met  him  in  a  village  where  I  was  only  a 
short  time  ago.  An  amusing  ape  enough,  but 
I  dislike  these  misformed  creatures." 

Mary  was  racked  with  curiosity.  She  rolled 
out  a  dozen  questions.  What  could  the  dwarf 
do?  Did  he  perform  juggler's  tricks,  and  so 
on,  and  so  on.  Aleyne  parried  them  as  well 
as  he  could,  and  finally  diverted  her  thoughts 
into  another  channel. 

In  the  meantime  Diabolo  pursued  his  way 


264 

to  the  Manor.  Now,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  he  was  under  the  impression  that  this 
sham  woodman  was  the  secret  lover  of  Doro- 
thy Vernon,  and  that  was  the  burden  of  the 
story  he  told  to  Bracebridge,  whose  amaze- 
ment almost  took  away  his  breath.  Never  be- 
fore in  the  whole  course  of  his  life  had  such  a 
puzzle  been  presented  to  him. 

Dorothy  Vernon  had  a  secret  lover  dis- 
guised as  a  woodman.  This  according  to  Dia- 
bolo,  the  faithful  spy. 

The  secret  lover  had  come  to  Chorley,  also 
according  to  Diabolo. 

Why  had  he  come  to  Chorley? 

That  question  seemed  to  admit  of  but  one 
answer.  He  was  there  for  no  good  purpose. 
He  was  there  with  evil  intent.  He  was  there 
to  work  mischief  against  Dorothy  Vernon's 
affianced  husband. 

All  this  seemed  so  clear  on  the  face  of  it  to 
Bracebridge  after  he  had  turned  the  puzzle 
over  and  over  in  his  mind  that  he  deemed  it 
of  the  utmost  importance  that  he  should  lose 
no  time  in  taking  some  steps  to  protect  himself 
from  the  machinations  of  this  evil-disposed 
knave  who  was  masquerading  as  a  woodman. 

When,  after  much  mental  twisting,  Brace- 
bridge  had  come  to  this  conclusion,  he  sum- 


moned  his  henchman,  Henry  Sparbolt,  the 
"  Hal "  of  the  Mill  where  John  Manners  had 
been  imprisoned.  He  bade  this  fellow  repair 
to  The  Green  Man,  accompanied  by  such  as- 
sistants as  he  might  deem  necessary,  and  by 
strategy  and  cunning  inveigle  the  woodman 
out,  and  then  at  all  risks  and  costs  bring  him 
to  the  Manor.  The  host  Stang  was  to  be  taken 
into  confidence,  and,  as  he  was  a  dependent  of 
the  lord  of  the  Manor,  he  might  be  relied  upon 
to  render  assistance. 

Sparbolt  understood  his  business,  and,  being 
a  willing  tool,  was  not  likely  to  err  on  the  side, 
of  leniency.  His  interests  were  bound  up  with 
his  master's,  therefore  he  was  to  be  depended 
upon.  So  he  sallied  forth  when  night  had 
fallen,  taking  two  others  with  him.  They  were 
provided  with  n  quantity  of  cowhide  thongs. 

When  the  miscreants  reached  the  inn  Spar- 
bolt  made  known  his  business  to  Stang,  telling 
the  landlord  he  was  unconsciously  harboring 
under  his  roof  an  arrant  knave  disguised  as  a 
woodman,  whose  object  in  being  there,  it  was 
reasonable  to  say,  was  to  take  the  life  of  the 
worthy  lord  of  the  Manor.  This  dastardly 
scheme  had  to  be  nipped  in  the  bud.  The 
woodman  must  be  conveyed  to  the  Manor,  and 
there  interrogated  as  to  his  purpose,  and. 


266 

should  his  answer  be  unsatisfactory,  the  lord 
would  be  justified  in  visiting  condign  punish- 
ment on  him.  The  landlord  knew,  of  course, 
on  which  side  his  bread  was  buttered,  and  was 
quite  ready  to  assist  in  laying  the  wicked  wood- 
man by  the  heels. 

All  unconscious  of  the  plot  that  was  hatch- 
ing against  him,  William  Aleyne  sat  in  the 
kitchen  with  Mary,  who  was  still  spinning,  and 
greatly  enjoying  her  flirtation  with  this  very 
agreeable  young  man,  when  Stang  entered, 
and  ordered  his  daughter  to  light  the  lantern, 
and  repair  to  the  dairy,  and  bring  a  jug  of  milk. 

Then  exactly  what  the  landlord  anticipated 
would  occur  did  occur.  William  Aleyne 
jumped  up,  lit  the  lantern,  and  offered  to  ac- 
company the  maid.  When  they  reached  the 
dairy,  which  was  at  the  end  of  a  barn,  and 
abutted  on  a  field,  Mary  found  that  the  key 
her  father  had  given  her  was  the  wrong  key. 
and  she  couldn't  open  the  door.  So  she  left 
the  lantern  with  the  woodman,  while  she  ran 
back  to  the  house. 

No  sooner  had  she  disappeared  than  up 
sprang  Sparbolt  and  his  men.  Aleyne  was 
seized.  The  lantern  was  placed  on  the  ground 
by  the  door,  he  was  gagged  before  he  could 
make  a  cry,  bound  in  the  vise-like  grip  of 


267 

Sparbolt  before  he  could  offer  any  resistance, 
and  then,  like  a  log  of  wood,  was  borne  across 
the  open  fields,  and  so  brought  to  the  Manor. 
And,  when  Bracebridge  came  to  see  his  cap- 
tive, he  was  dumb  with  amazement  as  he  rec- 
ognized in  the  woodman  William  Aleyne,  the 
man  who  had  fought  and  slain  his  young 
friend,  Ralph  Bardsdale. 


268 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A   PRISONER. 

The  surprise  was  mutual.  When  Aleyne  re- 
covered he  demanded  with  red-hot  indignation 
to  know  what  all  this  meant,  and  why  he  had 
been  made  the  victim  of  such  an  outrage. 
Bracebridge,  although  weak  and  ill,  was  like 
a  volcano.  His  inward  passion  shook  him.  He 
seethed  with  wrath,  for  he  regarded  Aleyne  as 
his  rival.  Had  not  Diabolo  brought  a  report 
to  that  effect,  and  Diabolo  was  to  be  relied 
upon ;  he  was  cunning  as  the  serpent,  and  not 
likely  to  be  deceived. 

Yes,  this  William  Aleyne  had  had  the  un- 
heard of  audacity  to  disguise  himself  in  order 
that  he  might  wile  Dorothy  from  her  affianced 
husband.  And,  apart  from  that,  William 
Aleyne  had  fought  and  killed  Ralph  Bardsdale, 
and  for  the  death  of  Ralph  Bracebridge  had 
suffered,  and  been  well  nigh  killed  himself. 
And  now  William  Aleyne,  still  disguised,  was 
found  in  Chorley.  What  did  he  there?  On 


269 

the  face  of  it  his  presence  was  a  menace.  Brace- 
bridge  let  himself  go,  and  in  a  torrent  of  fiery 
invective  he  made  it  clear  what  he  thought  of 
his  captive. 

"  And  pray,"  demanded  Aleyne  haughtily, 
"  on  what  grounds  do  you  bring  me  here  as 
your  prisoner?  " 

"  On  the  grounds  of  right  and  justice.  You 
are  an  impostor." 

Aleyne's  brow  darkened  as  he  said  taunting- 
ly, "  It  does  not  require  much  courage  to  in- 
sult a  defenseless  man.  I  give  you  back  the 
accusation.  I  am  no  impostor,  but  you  are  un- 
mistakably a  coward.  I  tell  you  this  to  your 
face,  although  I  am  bound  and  weaponless, 
while  you  are  free  and  armed." 

Bracebridge  winced. 

"  Have  a  care,"  he  said ;  "  it  would  be  well 
for  you  to  put  a  curb  upon  your  saucy 
tongue." 

"  I  repeat  that  you  are  a  coward ;  and  I  add 
to  it  now  that  you  are  a  knave — a  scurvy, 
treacherous,  lying  knave." 

"  These  words  come  with  ill  grace  from  a 
man  who  disguises  himself  in  order  that  he 
may  corrupt  a  lady  who  is  already  pledged  in 
marriage." 

Something    like    a     smile    played     about 


270 

Aleyne's  mouth  as  he  realized  that  Bracebridge 
was  in  ignorance  of  Manners  being  the  secret 
lover,  and  he  resolved  that  he  would  not  en- 
lighten him. 

"Not  to  corrupt  her,"  he  said;  "but  to 
save  her  from  you." 

"  Again  I  say,  have  a  care." 

"  And  again  I  say  you  are  a  coward.  If  you 
would  prove  yourself  otherwise,  order  your 
creatures  to  free  my  arms  from  these  thongs, 
place  a  sword  in  my  hand,  and  meet  me  point 
to  point  as  a  true  man  should. 

"  I  fight  not  with  an  assassin." 

"  Assassin ! " 

"  Ay,  else  why  do  you  come  here  in  dis- 
guise. You  would  probably  have  taken  my 
life  in  cold  blood  if  opportunity  had  offered. 
But  your  villainous  design  has  been  nipped 
in  the  bud,  and  I'll  warrant  me  I'll  break  your 
pride  and  teach  you  a  lesson  ere  we  part." 

"  Poltroon  and  reptile,"  sneered  Aleyne,  his 
indignation  quite  getting  the  better  of  him; 
to  be  described  as  an  assassin  maddened  him. 

"  Hard  words  break  no  bones,"  replied 
Bracebridge,  "  and  since  you  are  neither  gen- 
tleman nor  honest  man,  I  shall  treat  you  as  a 
cutthroat  and  ruffian,  and  exact  from  you  a 


271 

bitter  reckoning  for  having  slain  by  a  foul  blow 
my  honorable  friend  Bardsdale." 

This  was  more  than  Aleyne  could  stand ;  the 
limit  of  his  patience  was  reached,  and,  despite 
the  thongs  that  bound  him,  he  made  a  dash  at 
his  maligner,  but  instantly  something  sprang 
upon  him  and  bore  him  to  the  ground.  The 
"  something  "  was  the  dwarf  Diabolo,  who  had 
been  lurking  in  a  corner  of  the  room  unper- 
ceived  by  Aleyne,  and  sprang  upon  his  back  as 
a  monkey  might  have  done,  throwing  him  for- 
ward on  his  face,  and  at  the  same  moment  al- 
most the  door  opened  and  Sparbolt  came  in. 
Lifting  the  bound  man  as  if  he  had  been  a 
mere  bundle  of  straw,  he  carried  him  away  and 
placed  him  in  a  darkened  room. 

Bracebridge  was  faithfully  served  by  his 
creatures.  In  the  case  of  Sparbolt  it  was  a 
matter  of  expediency,  for  he  was  in  his  master's 
power ;  but  with  Diabolo  and  the  others  it  was 
no  doubt  simply  a  matter  of  money.  Brace- 
bridge  was  a  student  of  human  nature,  and 
knew  how  to  appraise  a  man's  value.  From 
the  first  he  felt  sure  that  in  the  tricky,  cunning 
little  mountebank  he  had  a  valuable  tool,  for 
the  manikin  had  been  leading  a  hard  life  as 
a  roving  mountebank,  and  the  advantage  that 
would  be  his  by  faithful  service  to  a  wealthy 


272 

patron  were  apparent  to  him,  and  so  Brace- 
bridge  found  he  had  not  made  a  bad  bargain. 

This  was  more  than  confirmed  by  the  dwarf 
coming  to  Chorley  with  information  about 
Aleyne,  who,  unfortunately  for  himself,  had 
fallen  into  the  power  of  an  enemy  utterly  un- 
scrupulous where  his  own  interests  were  at 
stake.  Bracebridge  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
marry  Dorothy  Vernon,  and  if  he  could  pos- 
sibly prevent  it  he  was  not  going  to  allow  any- 
thing or  anybody  to  come  between  him  and 
his  object. 

In  making  a  prisoner  of  Aleyne,  Bracebridge 
was,  of  course,  clearly  guilty  of  an  illegal  act; 
but  such  a  man  was  not  likely  to  be  disturbed 
in  his  mind  by  a  trifle  of  that  kind.  Besides, 
the  law  was  lax  and  cumbersome,  and  a  per- 
son in  Bracebridge's  position  wielded  a  power 
which  in  the  hands  of  an  unprincipled  person 
became  despotism.  So  he  gave  his  orders  to 
his  servants,  and  returned  to  Haddon  under 
the  impression  that  he  had  got  rid  of  a  trouble- 
some rival,  whom  he  could  keep  out  of  the  way 
until  he  was  no  longer  to  be  feared.  It  was 
true  that  he  had  tried  to  do  the  same  with 
John  Manners,  but  his  victim  had  cleverly 
escaped  from  the  trap  and  got  clear  away.  But 
Bracebridge  felt  no  uneasiness,  strange  to  say, 


273 

for,  firstly,  he  was  of  opinion  that  the  whole 
affair  had  been  managed  so  skillfully  that, 
though  Manners  had  escaped,  he  did  not,  and 
would  not,  know  who  had  ensnared  him.  And 
secondly,  it  seemed  to  Bracebridge,  after  what 
had  happened,  highly  improbable  that  Man- 
ners would  ever  return  to  Haddon. 

In  this  respect  the  cunning  and  craft  of 
Bracebridge  overreached  themselves,  for  he  de- 
ceived himself  into  believing  that  John  Man- 
ners was  likely  to  hold  his  peace,  notwithstand- 
ing that  he  had  been  the  victim  of  a  gross  out- 
rage, and  was  a  gentleman  of  position,  as  well 
as  a  member  of  a  noble  and  powerful  family. 
But,  like  most  men  of  his  stamp,  Sir  Falconer 
Bracebridge  was  disposed  to  accept  that  for 
granted,  which  a  little  reflection  would  have 
convinced  him  was  improbable. 

It  has  already  been  stated  that  Mistress  Ver- 
non  had  by  this  time  resolved  that  she  would 
never  become  wife  to  Bracebridge,  but,  acting 
on  the  advice  of  faithful,  devoted  old  Madge, 
she  refrained  for  the  time  being  from  showing 
any  open  hostility  to  him.  Nevertheless,  he 
was  aware  that  he  did  not  possess  either  her 
confidence  or  her  love,  but  the  stake  he  was 
playing  for  was  so  high  that  he  was  not  de- 
terred from  pressing  his  suit,  more  particularly 


as  he  knew  that  Lady  Vernon  was  on  his  side. 
She  was  as  much  a  partisan  of  him  as  ever,  and 
Doll  had  given  up  contending  with  her,  since 
nothing  came  of  it  save  bitterness. 

The  days  that  passed  after  Sir  Falconer's  re- 
turn were  days  of  much  anxiety  to  Dorothy, 
for  she  knew  that  matters  must  shortly  come  to 
a  climax.  He  had  told  her  of  his  determina- 
tion to  press  her  father  for  a  public  announce- 
ment of  the  engagement,  and  he  urged  her  so 
importunately  to  consent  to  a  betrothal  that  she 
experienced  great  difficulty  in  keeping  her  feel- 
ings under.  But  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
close  her  eyes  to  the  probable  results  if  it  was 
discovered  that  she  had  a  secret  lover,  and  that 
that  lover  was  John  Manners. 

This  period  was  undoubtedly  the  most  try- 
ing in  her  whole  career,  and  the  state  of  her 
troubled  mind  was  reflected  in  her  face,  so  that 
her  father  noticed  it,  and  questioned  her  about 
her  unhappy  looks.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing 
for  Dorothy  Vernon  to  deceive  her  father,  who 
had  been  so  good  to  her,  but  it  had  to  be  done 
for  the  sake  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  given 
her  heart. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  Dorothy  labored 
under  fears,  which  were  altogether  unjustified, 
and  had  she  taken  her  father  into  her  confi- 


275 

dence  and  given  him  distinctly  to  understand 
that  she  would  have  preferred  death  to  being 
wife  to  Bracebridge,  he  would  have  ranged 
himself  on  her  side.  But  past  experience  had 
discouraged  her,  and  Lady  Vernon's  severity, 
no  less  than  her  influence  with  her  husband, 
caused  the  poor  girl  to  shrink  from  a  frank 
avowal  of  her  troubles,  her  hopes,  and  her  fears. 
As  for  her  sister  Margaret,  she  was  shut  off 
from  her,  as  it  were,  for  Margaret  was  so  ab- 
sorbed in  her  own  affairs  and  the  preparation 
for  her  approaching  marriage  that  she  could 
converse  of  nothing  else ;  and  so  Doll  perforce 
had  to  pour  her  troubles  into  the  ever  open  ears 
of  old  Madge,  whose  passionate  attachment  to 
the  girl  condoned  for  any  misleading  advice 
she  might  have  given  her. 

Perhaps  the  only  point  on  which  the  nurse 
was  at  fault  was  in  not  urging  her  charge  to 
lay  the  case  before  Sir  George  Vernon ;  but  like 
Dorothy  herself,  she  believed  that  the  Lord  of 
Haddon  was  so  much  under  the  sway  of  his 
lady  that  any  appeal  to  him  would  not  only  be 
useless,  but  utterly  blight  the  girl's  hope.  And 
so  they  held  together,  and  played  their  respec- 
tive parts  in  the  plot  of  a  story  that  was  to  live 
for  ever. 

At  last  Bracebridge  was  called  away,  and  he 


276 

and  the  objectionable  dwarf  disappeared  to  the 
intense  relief  of  Dorothy  Vernon.  Lady  Brace- 
bridge  had  exceeded  the  allotted  span  of  life, 
and  having  been  passionately  fond  of  her  un- 
worthy son,  though,  of  course,  she  never 
deemed  him  unworthy,  she  sped  an  urgent 
message  to  him  when  she  felt  her  end  ap- 
proaching, and  he,  in  spite  of  the  evil  of  his 
nature,  loved  her,  and  no  second  summons  was 
needed  to  tear  him  from  the  presence  of  his 
hoped-for  bride,  and  hurry  him  to  the  cham- 
ber of  death  in  Spring  Head  Castle,  near 
Blackburn,  which  had  long  been  the  residence 
of  his  mother. 

And  while  Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge  jour- 
neyed to  Blackburn,  Diabolo,  acting  on  his 
master's  instructions,  journeyed  to  Chorley, 
where  he  was  to  await  further  orders. 


277 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    BID    FOR    FREEDOM. 

When  William  Aleyne  found  himself  in  the 
hands  of  his  enemy  at  Chorley,  his  first  feeling 
was  one  of  almost  uncontrollable  exasperation. 
The  cunning  and  artful  manner  in  which  he 
had  been  trapped  showed  that  in  spite  of  his 
disguise  and  his  caution,  the  Lord  of  Chorley 
had  outwitted  him,  and  the  captive  was 
puzzled  to  understand  how  his  identity  had 
been  revealed. 

At  this  stage  he  did  not  suspect  Diabolo,  but 
it  seemed  clear  to  him  that  Bracebridge  was 
well  served  by  spies.  But,  notwithstanding  his 
wounded  pride  and  outraged  feelings,  Aleyne 
smiled  to  himself  at  the  thought  of  the  error 
Bracebridge  had  apparently  made  in  suspect- 
ing him  of  being  Dorothy's  lover,  and  it  was 
not  likely  he  would  go  out  of  his  way  to  en- 
lighten him. 

"  My  being  here  leaves  John  a  clear  course," 
he  thought;  and  this  very  thought  afforded 


278 

him  so  much  satisfaction  that  his  irritation 
gave  place  to  a  jubilant  delight,  for  Brace- 
bridge  would  be  caught  in  his  own  snare,  and 
Manners  would  bear  off  the  prize.  Viewing 
the  situation  in  this  light,  he  did  not  give  him- 
self any  concern  about  the  future.  He  never, 
for  a  moment,  thought  that  his  life  was  in  dan- 
ger. Bracebridge  was  a  bold  and  unscrupu- 
lous rascal,  but  he  would  surely  hesitate  before 
lending  himself  to  assassination. 

All  this  was  comforting  philosophy  for  a 
time  until  the  prisoner  began  to  suffer  in  health 
from  the  confinement  and  restraint.  He  had 
been  used  to  activity;  to  an  outdoor  life,  and 
he  felt  the  deprivation  of  liberty  very  keenly. 
As  day  after  day  passed,  and  brought  no 
change,  he  grew  irritable  and  moody,  and  con- 
templated making  a  desperate  bid  for  liberty. 
Hal,  the  strong  man,  was  his  custodian,  and 
from  this  fellow  he  demanded  angrily  to  know 
why  he  was  kept  a  prisoner  there.  But  Hal 
was  a  fitting  representative  of  his  master.  He 
was  secretive,  sullen,  and  cunning,  and  neither 
threats  nor  persuasion  could  move  him.  In 
reply  to  all  questions  he  replied  grumpily: 

"  I  am  not  here  to  answer  you  but  to  carry 
out  my  orders." 

Aleyrie  was  kept  in  a  tower  that  flanked  a 


wing  of  the  house,  and  he  had  the  use  of  three 
small  rooms,  communicating  with  each  other, 
though  one  of  the  rooms  was  nothing  more 
than  a  windowless  closet.  The  other  two  were 
poorly  lighted;  there  was  a  window  in  each, 
but  deeply  embayed  in  the  thickness  of  the 
wall. 

One  night,  when  the  tax  upon  his  patience 
and  endurance  was  more  than  could  be  borne, 
Aleyne  climbed  up  to  one  of  the  windows,  and, 
reckless  of  consequences,  shattered  the  case- 
ment to  pieces,  forced  himself  through  the 
aperture,  and  plunged  into  space  and  darkness. 

Instead  of  striking  the  ground  as  he  antici- 
pated, Aleyne  found  himself  floundering  in 
water.  The  water  was  deep,  he  could  not 
swim,  and  death  by  drowning  seemed  inevita- 
ble. This  inglorious  way,  however,  of  ending 
his  life,  so  alarmed  him  that  he  battled  for  his 
existence  with  almost  superhuman  energy. 
He  succeeded  at  last  in  reaching  the  bank. 
He  drew  himself  out,  but  sank  exhausted  on 
the  ground,  and  a  blank  ensued.  It  appeared 
that  a  stream  of  considerable  volume  flowed 
through  the  grounds,  and  the  windows  of  the 
tower  in  which  Aleyne  had  been  confined, 
actually  projected  over  a  part  of  this  stream. 
As  he  had  descended  over  twenty  feet  in  his 


280 

desperate  leap,  the  chances  are,  had  he  struck 
the  ground  he  would  have  been  killed  outright. 

The  noise  of  his  fall  and  of  his  subsequent 
struggles  in  the  water  did  not  escape  the  ear 
of  the  gate  warden,  who  got  some  of  his  mates 
together,  and,  provided  with  lanterns,  they 
proceeded  to  make  a  search,  with  the  result 
that  they  discovered  Aleyne  lying  drenched 
and  insensible  on  the  bank.  Hal  was  at  once 
communicated  with,  a  short  consultation  fol- 
lowed, and  when  Aleyne  recovered  his  senses 
he  was  stretched  on  a  bed  of  straw,  and  a  cold 
icy  blast  seemed  to  be  blowing  upon  him.  He 
felt  weak  and  ill,  and  so  dazed  and  confused 
mentally  that  he  couldn't  quite  realize  the  sit- 
uation, and  absolute  exhaustion  caused  him  to 
fall  asleep. 

He  awoke  some  time  afterward,  and  then  re- 
membered what  had  occurred,  but  the  rest  was 
a  problem.  Where  was  he?  Certainly  not  in 
the  room  he  had  previously  occupied.  In  time 
he  made  out  that  he  was  confined  in  what  ap- 
peared to  be  an  underground  dungeon.  The 
walls  were  irregular,  and  in  places  bulged. 
The  floor  was  the  natural  earth.  In  the  roof, 
which  was  high  up,  was  a  long,  narrow  shaft,  a 
ventilating  hole  merely,  through  which  a  tiny 
strip  of  blue  sky  could  be  discerned.  Down 


28l 

this  shaft  came  a  current  of  cold,  moist-laden 
air.  The  atmosphere  of  the  place  was  damp, 
fusty,  and  there  was  a  peculiar  gaseous  smell, 
which  caused  the  prisoner  to  cough,  and  the 
coughing  raised  hollow  echoes  in  the  cavern- 
ous chamber.  The  entrance  to  the  place  was 
through  an  irregular,  roughly  hewn  archway, 
but  this  entrance  was  closed  by  pieces  of  tim- 
ber rudely  fastened  together  to  form  a  door. 

When  Aleyne  had  come  to  a  knowledge  of 
these  things  he  could  no  longer  take  even  a 
philosophical  view  of  his  position,  for  it  was 
only  too  obvious  that  he  was  a  victim  of  mach- 
inations that  afforded  him  little  ground  for 
hoping  that  he  would  be  able  to  free  himself 
from  the  toils  of  his  enemies.  It  was  a  mad- 
dening position.  He  felt  chilled  to  the  mar- 
row, for  his  wet  clothes  had  not  been  removed, 
he  was  ill  and  exhausted,  and  sinking  with 
hunger.  The  walls  and  roof  of  his  place  of 
confinement  were  the  solid  rock.  The  rough 
door  of  the  entrance  was  stout  and  strong,  and 
precluded  all  chance  of  escape  in  that  way. 
That  he  was  far  underground  was  proved  by 
the  shaft  or  hole  in  the  roof  through  which  air 
and  light  came,  but  while  the  wind  rushed 
down  like  the  blast  from  a  blacksmith's  bel- 


282 

lows,  the  feeble  light  that  was  admitted  did  lit- 
tle more  than  make  the  darkness  visible. 

At  length  sounds  fell  upon  the  wretched 
man's  ears ;  the  sounds  of  tramping  feet  awak- 
ening the  booming  echoes  of  some  subter- 
raneous and  cavernous  hollow.  Then  gleams 
of  light  fell  through  the  interstices  of  the  door ; 
a  bar  was  removed,  and  Hal  stood  in  the 
threshold.  Behind  him  were  two  or  three  oth- 
er men  with  a  couple  of  lanterns  between  them. 
The  giant  was  armed  with  a  sort  of  halberd, 
and  he  brought  a  supply  of  food  and  drink. 
But  liberty  was  the  ruling  thought  in  Aleyne's 
brain  at  that  moment ;  he  demanded  to  be  re- 
leased, and  threatened  Bracebridge  with  the 
direct  consequences  for  this  outrage  on  a  free 
subject. 

Hal  laughed  mockingly.  He  made  it  known 
that  in  the  absence  of  his  master  he  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  prisoner's  safe  keeping,  and 
as  he  had  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  escape, 
he  had,  for  greater  security,  had  him  conveyed 
to  a  storage  chamber  in  one  of  the  upper  levels 
of  a  disused  mine  on  Bracebridge's  estate. 

Aleyne  heard  this  with  a  sickening  sense  of 
despair  which  seemed  to  render  him  so  inert 
for  the  moment  that  he  was  like  a  man  stunned. 
Taking  advantage  of  this  Hal  placed  the  food 


283 

and  wine  on  the  floor,  and  hurried  away.  Evi- 
dently he  was  anxious  to  avoid  argument  or 
discussion  with  his  prisoner.  For  hours  and 
hours — hours  that  stretched  into  days — Aleyne 
endured  agony  of  mind  and  body.  Immured  in 
that  living  tomb,  he  was  tempted  to  beat  his 
brains  out  against  the  rock  walls,  and  in  all 
probability  he  would  have  yielded  to  this  if  he 
had  not  been  upheld  by  a  hope  that  he  would 
yet  be  able  to  wreak  a  terrible  vengeance  on 
his  pitiless  foe.  But  he  grew  weaker  natural- 
ly, and  brain  and  body  suffered. 

Then  once  more  the  rumbling  echoes  were 
aroused  by  the  tramp  of  feet  in  the  external 
gallery,  and  at  last  Hal  and  his  myrmidons 
stood  in  the  doorway,  and  this  time  he  was  ac- 
companied by  the  grinning,  monkey-like  Dia- 
bolo,  who  had  just  returned  from  Haddon. 
Aleyne  sprang  at  the  dwarf,  who,  taken  un- 
awares, was  felled  heavily  to  the  ground.  Then 
Hal  struck  the  prisoner  with  his  halberd,  but 
Aleyne,  with  the  strength  of  maddening  de- 
spair, seized  the  weapon  from  the  giant's  hand, 
swung  it  round  his  head,  and  aimed  a  terrific 
blow,  which  Hal  dodged ;  but  the  steel-headed 
halberd  struck  the  wall  of  rock  with  such  force 
that  the  lance  wood  shaft  was  shivered. 

In  a  few  seconds  a  strange  sound  arose; 


284 

there  was  a  great  cracking  as  if  mighty  baulks 
of  timber  were  being  wrenched,  and  then  as  if 
millions  of  bees  had  been  suddenly  let  loose. 
Hal  and  his  men  heard  this  ominous  and 
deadly  warning,  and,  knowing  its  significance, 
and  heedless  of  the  prisoner  and  the  stunned 
dwarf  on  the  ground,  they  sped  for  their  lives, 
and  Aleyne  rushed  after  them;  but  the  earth 
trembled;  there  was  a  rumble  as  of  distant 
thunder,  that  increased  and  swelled  into  one 
appalling  mighty  uproar;  a  blast  of  air  with 
a  speed  greater  than  the  fiercest  hurricane  that 
ever  blew  swept  through  the  mine,  which  was 
rent,  torn,  and  shattered  by  an  explosion  that 
brought  down  tens  of  thousands  of  tons  of 
rock,  and  buried  all  the  flying  men  for  ever  and 
ever  fathoms  deep  below. 

And  the  eause  of  this  tremendous  explosion, 
from  which  no  living  thing  came  forth,  was 
due  to  Aleyne  having  struck  with  the  halberd 
a  vein  of  slickensides,  or  galena,  to  give  it  its 
scientific  name,  in  the  rock  wall.  The  effects 
of  a  blow  on  this  mysterious  mineral,  which  is 
found  in  abundance  in  some  mines,  is  an  ex- 
plosion which  shatters  the  earth  to  pieces  like 
an  earthquake,  and  sweeps  to  immediate  death 
every  living  thing  within  the  radius  of  its  force. 
Hal  the  giant,  three  men  who  accompanied 


him,  Diabolo  the  dwarf,  and  poor  William 
Aleyne  met  with  a  swift  and  sudden  end  in  the 
mine  which  had  been  Aleyne's  prison,  and  now 
was  his  tomb. 

For  a  long  time  the  mine  had  not  been 
worked  owing  to  the  presence  of  veins  of  the 
deadly  "  slickenside,"  which  made  the  work- 
ing of  it  too  dangerous.  Hal  had  regarded  it 
as  an  absolutely  safe  place  of  confinement  for 
his  master's  enemy.  The  object  of  Diabolo's 
visit  to  the  prisoner  was  to  offer  him,  in  the 
name  of  Bracebridge,  his  freedom  if  he  would 
pledge  himself  to  quit  the  country.  But  a 
terrible  and  wholly  unlooked-for  retribution 
had  fallen  upon  the  too  willing  tools  of  Brace- 
bridge's  villainy;  though,  unhappily,  poor 
William  Aleyne  had  been  involved  in  the 
strange  disaster. 


•  CHAPTER  XXXI. 

TRIUMPH. 

Sir  Falconer  Bracebridge's  absence  at  the 
deathbed  of  his  mother  allowed  Dorothy  Ver- 
non  and  her  secret  lover  to  make  good  prog- 
ress with  their  wooing.  Naturally  Manners 
was  concerned  by  the  strange  silence  of  his 
bosom  friend,  but  he  consoled  himself  with  the 
thought  Aleyne  had  found  the  difficulty  of 
getting  the  information  he  desired  greater 
than  he  anticipated,  and  so  was  prolonging  his 
stay.  Anyway  Jedaan  had  set  off  after  Aleyne, 
and  her  readiness  of  resource  and  her  wit  would 
probably  enable  her  to  bring  back  a  good  re- 
port. 

For  some  time  no  word  came  from  Brace- 
bridge.  Then  he  wrote  to  Lady  Vernon  to  say 
that  his  mother  had  lingered,  and  had  only 
just  died ;  that  he  was  broken  down  with  grief, 
and  had  much  to  attend  to,  but  he  hoped  to  be 
back  at  Haddon  in  time  for  Margaret's  wed- 
ding, which  was  now  close  at  hand.  He  added 


that  he  hoped  Dorothy  was  not  fretting  too 
much,  and  that  he  dreamed  of  her  night  and 
day. 

At  Haddon  Hall  affairs  were  not  likely  to 
stand  still  because  of  the  absence  of  Sir  Fal- 
coner Bracebrrdge,  however  important  he 
might  appear  in  Lady  Vernon's  sight;  and  so 
the  preparations  for  the  marriage  were  pushed 
forward  with  great  vigor,  and  in  the  whirl 
and  hum  of  these  preparations  Dorothy  was 
overlooked  and  almost  forgotten.  Not  that 
that  caused  her  any  concern.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  rejoiced,  for  it  enabled  her,  John, 
Will  Dawson,  and  Madge  to  perfect  their 
scheme  for  utterly  and  forever  defeating 
Bracebridge.  For  good  or  for  evil,  Dorothy 
Vernon  had  given  her  solemn  pledge  to  John 
Manners,  and  she  had  no  intention  of  retract- 
ing at  the  eleventh  hour. 

At  length  the  fateful  marriage  morning 
dawned,  and  in  the  private  chapel  of  Haddon 
Sir  Thomas  Stanley  and  Margaret  Vernon 
were  joined  together  in  the  bonds  of  holy 
matrimony  in  accordance  with  the  Roman 
Catholic  ritual.  In  the  history  of  Haddon  there 
had  probably  never  before  been  gathered  under 
the  hospitable  roof  such  a  number  of  distin- 
guished guests.  Every  available  room  in  the 


268 

great  pile  of  buildings  had  been  utilized,  and  in 
order  to  accommodate  the  fifty  additional  serv- 
ants who  had  been  engaged  to  minister  to  the 
wants  of  the  visitors  a  temporary  wooden 
house  was  erected  outside  of  the  main  entrance. 
A  special  and  renowned  band  of  musicians  had 
been  brought  down  from  London,  and  for  days 
an  army  of  decorators  had  been  at  work,  and 
when  the  night  came  and  dancing  commenced 
the  scene  in  the  great  ballroom  was  one  of  sur- 
passing brilliancy,  and  unique  in  Haddon's  his- 
tory. 

No  energy  and  no  expense  had  been  spared 
to  make  the  event  one  of  such  splendor  that 
future  generations  of  Derbyshire  people  would 
speak  of  it  with  pride. 

All  day  long  there  had  been  feasting  and 
junketings.  Scores  of  beggars  had  fed  on  the 
fat  of  the  land  at  great  tables  spread  for  them 
under  the  trees  in  the  wood  near  the  main  en- 
trance. Extra  fireplaces  were  contrived  to 
meet  the  strain  of  the  demand  in  the  cooking 
department,  and  down  in  the  valley  by  the 
banks  of  the  Wye  the  entire  carcasses  of  cattle 
and  sheep  and  deer  had  been  roasted  in  the 
open  air,  for,  fortunately,  the  weather  was, 
splendidly  fine.  With  the  falling  of  darkness 
the  Hall  broke  out  into  a  blaze  of  light,  and 


289 

the  sounds  of  revelry  rose  on  the  still  night 
air.  And  there  was  laughter  and  song,  jest 
and  wit,  and  many  an  al  fresco  love  scene  un- 
der the  trees. 

In  the  ballroom,  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
high  degree  danced  with  all  the  stateliness  and 
grace  of  the  times,  and  many  a  gallant  con-| 
tended  for  the  honor  of  treading  a  measure 
with  sweet  Dorothy,  who  by  common  consent 
was  the  belle  of  the  room.  Never  had  she 
looked  more  beautiful  than  she  did  that  night.  . 
She  was  simply  but  artistically  attired,  and 
her  glorious  hair  was  adorned  with  flowers, 
amid  which  glittered  a  band  of  gold  set  with* 
diamonds  and  pearls,  the  gift  of  her  brother- 
in-law.  Her  face  was  flushed,  her  eyes  bril- 
liant, and  it  might  have  been  noted  that  now 
and  again  she  gave  a  wistful  glance  at  the  face 
of  a  quaint  old  clock  that  slowly  ticked  off  the 
hours  in  a  recess  in  the  room. 

At  last  the  hands  marked  eleven,  and  a  few. 
seconds  later  the  great  turret  bell  announced 
to  the  little  world  that  the  eleventh  hour  had 
ended.  The  revelry  was  at  its  height,  and,  tak- 
ing advantage  of  everyone's  attention  being 
absorbed,  Doll  slipped  from  the  great  ball- 
room, and  gained  an  ante-room,  from  which  a 
flight  of  eleven  stone  steps  gave  access  to  the 


290 

terrace.  Madge  was  waiting  for  her,  with  a 
long  cloak  and  a  pair  of  strong  shoes. 

Dorothy  tore  the  flowers  from  her  hair,  has- 
tily put  off  her  dancing  shoes,  and  slipped  on 
those  Madge  had  brought.  The  long  cloak 
covered  her  ball  dress,  and  its  hood  hid  her 
masses  of  hair.  And  now  the  fateful  and  su- 
preme moment  had  come.  She  flung  her  arms 
round  the  neck  of  her  dear,  faithful  old  nurse, 
who  was  choking  and  sobbing  with  emotion. 
The  nurse  stammered  a  whispered  blessing  on 
her  love  bird,  and  then  the  love  bird  flew  down 
the  steps  into  the  darkness  of  the  night.  A 
haze  was  in  the  air,  and  the  stars  seemed  to 
twinkle  through  a  veil  of  gauze.  There  was  no 
moon;  the  air  was  still,  and  with  dreamy, 
rhythmical  murmur  the  Wye  talked  to  the 
veiled  stars  and  the  hushed  trees  of  Dorothy 
Vernon's  flight. 

Will  Dawson  was  waiting  at  the  end  of  the 
terrace.  He  helped  her  over  the  wall,  and 
then  guided  her  down  the  steep  declivity  to 
the  river.  The  tiny  bridge  was  gained.  The 
crescent  light  still  shone  upon  it,  for  on  this 
particular  night  the  ordinary  rule  of  extin- 
guishing it  at  ten  o'clock  had  not  been  ob- 
served. 

Doll  pressed  Dawson's  hand,  and  murmured 


2QI 

a  "  God  bless  you,"  then,  like  a  spirit  of  the 
woods,  she  ran  or  flew  through  the  beam  of 
light  to  the  darkness  on  the  other  side  of  the4 
river,  where  her  lover  with  two  horses  awaited 
her.  A  hurried  kiss;  he  lifted  her  to  her  sad- 
:dle,  sprang  onto  his  own  horse,  and  went  at 
a  walking  pace  until  Rowsley  was  gained. 

The  village  was  nearly  entirely  deserted  for 
all  the  villagers  who  could  go  were  at  Haddon. 
As  soon  as  they  left  Rowsley  the  fugitives  let 
their  horses  go.  They  sped  through  the 
dreamy  vale  of  Darley,  and  past  the  little  hos- 
telry where  John  had  fought  the  duel,  and 
where  he  had  lain  well-nigh  stricken  unto 
death.  On  through  Matlock  and  past  the 
great  High  Tor  they  went,  and  slackened  not 
their  pace  until  the  suburbs  of  Derby  were 
gained.  John  Manners  managed  to  arouse  the 
people  at  a  hostelry,  and  by  means  of  liberal 
payment  silenced  inquiry  if  he  did  not  stop 
curiosity.  Food  and  fresh  horses  were  pro- 
cured, and  once  again  the  runaways  were  in 
full  flight. 

Dorothy's  flight  from  her  home  was  not  dis- 
covered until  more  than  two  hours  had  passed 
from  the  time  she  met  her  lover.  Her  father 
missed  her  and  asked  for  her.  Some  servant 
said  she  was  in  her  room.  A  message  was  sent, 


but  the  messenger  came  back  to  say  she  was 
not  there.  Through  the  grounds  and  on  the 
terrace  her  name  was  called,  but  called  in  vain. 
Anxiety  began  to  manifest  itself,  a  search  was 
made  throughout  the  house,  Madge  was 
roused  from  her  bed,  but  gave  no  sign  that  she 
knew  of  the  flight.  The  mystery  deepened. 

Presently  a  half-drunken  servitor  of  one  of 
the  guests,  who  had  been  roystering  by  a  fire 
that  burned  in  the  valley,  declared  that  he  had 
seen  a  cloaked  woman  and  a  man  ride  across 
the  valley  from  the  direction  of  the  bridge. 
This  information  stirred  everyone  into  action. 
There  was  a  call  for  horses,  which  were  sad- 
dled with  all  speed.  Gentlemen  guests  buckled 
on  their  swords,  and  retainers  armed  them- 
selves with  cudgels,  though  why  heaven  only 
knew.  Then  through  woods  and  valleys  the 
pursuers  spread  themselves,  and  parties  rode 
east,  west,  north,  and  south. 

But  they  straggled  back  again  in  twos  and 
threes,  in  fours  and  fives,  in  the  light  of  dawn- 
ing day,  but  never  a  sign  had  they  seen  of 
Dorothy.  A  gloom  fell  upon  the  bridal  party, 
and  the  festivities  were  brought  abruptly  to 
a  close.  Lady  Vernon  was  scornful  and  bitter, 
and  expressed  her  belief  that  her  stepdaughter 
had  gone  off  with  some  ill-bred  hind.  Sir 


293 

George  was  silent,  and  shut  himself  in  his 
room,  for  his  sorrow  cut  him  to  the  soul.  His 
favorite  daughter,  upon  whom  he  had  doted, 
had  gone  from  him,  and  when  Margaret  had 
left  he  would  be  a  lonely,  broken-hearted  old 
man.  He  braced  himself  up  to  speed  his  part- 
ing guests,  and  utter  a  blessing  on  his  newly 
married  daughter  and  her  husband,  and  when 
all  had  gone  he  abandoned  himself  to  his  grief. 
The  proud  man  was  humbled,  and  wept.  His 
child  had  gone — the  world  was  darkened  for 
him. 

A  little  more  than  a  week  from  Margaret's 
wedding  night  had  flown  when  there  came  a 
mounted  messenger  to  Haddon  Hall.  He  had 
ridden  hard  from  Leicestershire,  and  he. 
brought  letters  from  John  and  Dorothy. 
These  letters  told  in  outline  the  story  of  the 
secret  wooing,  the  flight,  the  marriage;  the 
writers  prayed  for  forgiveness,  and  to  be  al- 
lowed to  return.  Lady  Vernon  was  obdurate 
and  scornful.  She  talked  of  broken  pride,  of 
outraged  honor,  of  sullied  escutcheon,  of  the 
disgrace  to  the  family,  and  much  more  non- 
sense to  the  same  effect,  and  suggested  that  the 
door  of  Haddon  should  be  forever  closed 
against  the  "  jade  "  who  had  brought  this  hu- 
miliation and  sorrow  upon  them. 


294 

But  Sir  George  rose  strong  in  his  might  at 
last.  He  was  lord  of  his  own  house.  He  was 
ruler  even  of  his  wife ;  his  word  should  be  law. 
Dorothy  was  the  core  of  his  heart,  and  he 
didn't  allow  false  pride  to  desolate  his  hearth. 
So  back  a  message  was  sent  to  the  fugitives, 
bidding  them  return,  when  all  should  be  for- 
given, and  the  boar's  head  and  the  peacock 
should  be  blended  ever  more  in  the  arms  of  the 
Vernon  and  Rutland  families. 

As  soon  as  ever  the  message  reached  them, 
Dorothy  Manners  and  her  well-loved  husband 
started  for  Haddon,  and  so  overjoyed  was  Sir 
George  to  have  his  pet  bird  back  again  that  he 
ordered  a  second  bridal  feast  to  be  prepared, 
and  once  more  revelry  and  song  resounded 
through  the  hall,  and  John  Manners  openly 
took  his  place  as  the  honored  husband  of  the 
youngest  and  most  beauteous  of  the  King  of 
the  Peak's  daughters. 

A  shadow  fell  upon  him  a  few  days  later 
when  Jedaan  brought  him  word  that  his  true 
and  tried  friend,  William  Aleyne,  was  sup- 
posed to  have  perished  in  an  explosion  in  one 
of  the  mines  on  Bracebridge's  estate.  So  much 
she  had  gathered,  but  the  rest  was  all  mystery, 
which  even  she  was  unable  to  solve.  She 
further  said  that  she  had  learned  that  Sir  Fal- 


295 

coner  was  lying  seriously  ill  at  his  late  mother's 
house.  The  wound  which  he  had  received  in 
his  fight  with  Ralph  Bardsdale's  kinsman  had 
never  properly  healed,  and  in  dismounting 
from  his  horse,  after  returning  from  his  moth- 
er's funeral,  he  slipped  and  wrenched  himself; 
the  wound  opened  afresh,  and  owing  to  the 
unskilled  treatment  of  a  barber  surgeon,  symp- 
toms of  gangrene  ensued,  and  spreading  rapid- 
ly blood  poisoning  was  set  up,  and  in  a  few 
weeks'  time  the  news  reached  Haddon  that  Sir 
Falconer  Bracebridge  had  paid  the  penalty  of 
mortality,  and  passed  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death.  To  Lady  Vernon  the  news 
was  a  shock,  and  it  caused  her  real  distress, 
for  she  could  not  detect  the  hand  of  Fate  in 
all  the  events  of  the  last  few  months.  Prob- 
ably she  was  the  only  mourner  Bracebridge 
had  at  Haddon. 

John  Manners  tried  to  induce  the  strangely 
gifted  Jedaan  to  settle  down,  but  she  laughed 
and  said  the  wild  and  restless  spirit  within  her 
rendered  that  impossible.  She  must  move  on, 
and  would  continue  moving,  until  the  debt  of 
nature  was  paid.  One  night  she  disappeared 
as  suddenly  as  she  had  come,  and  Haddon 
knew  her  no  more. 

Honest  Will  Dawson,  who  had  rendered 


296 

such  yeoman  service  to  the  lovers  in  their  se- 
cret wooing,  was  not  forgotten;  while  dear, 
faithful,  wise  old  Madge,  was  destined  to  pass 
three  happy,  peaceful  years  more  with  her 
"  sweet  love-bird,"  and  then  very  suddenly  one 
night  to  fall  into  the  sleep  that  hath  no  awaken- 
ing. 

Madge  was  a  lowly  born  woman,  but  she 
had  helped,  and,  indeed,  been  mainly  instru- 
mental in  changing  the  fortunes  of  two  great 
houses ;  and  she  had  saved  the  sweet  and  beau- 
tiful Dorothy  Vernon  from  the  terrible  fate  of 
being  bride  to  a  man  who  would  probably  have 
wrecked  her  happiness  and  ruined  her  life. 

THE   END. 


A     000  129  560 


